Second part of my New Zealand trip

It is often said that "the people of New Zealand are more English than the English,” or “New Zeland is more like England was fifty years ago.”  Both of these statements may be true.

As an anthropologist I am always fascinated on how a society or people envolve and why.  The majority of immigrants to New Zealand were British, with wave upon wave of basically kind, gentle souls (be it that they have a downer disposition caused by the miserable weather) being transported to a warm tropical climate and what happens to them?  They change into extremely outgoing, friendly people welcoming the next wave of newcomers. 

The British people love sports but they are hampered by the weather.  Not such a problem out there, cricket, soccer, rugby, hiking and sailing; beaches everywhere so everyone can have a boat if they wish.  Some of the great wins in championship sailing go to New Zealanders or Kivis as they prefer to be called.  They won the American Cup for the second year in a row in 2000.

Clive, grandchildren and Mika, John's wife. 

I found an perfect example of a new immigrant at a party at Cathy’s parents (Clive and Margaret) house for their grandchildren. They have five children over a range of years and so the grandchildren were from a 3 year-old to young grown ups in their twenties.  A young man was introduced to me and I was given a big hug.  Everyone who was there was family so I was hugged.  Later when I got to talk with him I realized from his accent that he was from Manchester, and had just arrived about ten months ago with his father.  He looked well and sun tanned.  “How do you like it?” I ask. “Oh, it is marvelous” he said.  “On Christmas Day, for example, instead of huddling over a fireplace we were out at the beach, fabulous.”  He was also dating one of the granddaughters and so had been absorbed into the new New Zealand family.  Both Cathy and her sister, Anglie, had married Englishmen.

One of the newest additions to New Zealand  and  Cathy's cousin

Maori art

Our days in Auckland were busy. One day we went out to the picturesque Piha Beach, on the west side of the island with the distinctive feature of black sand. Many artists chose to live there.  Another day we drove around the district on the water called Davenport, where early immigrants lived.  Another day we wen into the big Museum in Auckland where they have a show put on by Maori dancers.  Cathy felt it was artifical, something put on for American tourtists as the MC  had an American accent. The examples of Maori art were magnificent and I loved the boats the early explorers arrived in.   

Piha Beach

Another day Cathy dropped me off in the town and I wandered around the shops and finished up on the beach.  Cathy’s son Sam works in his father’s record/musical instrument store Marbecks, and also fixes computers and so I looked around.  They had a great selection of CDs and seem to be doing well.  Next I go into the jewelry shop where Chelsea works on Saturdays, Augerstein’s and buy a silver charm for Eliza.  I go into the newspaper shop and get an enormous weekend newspaper.  As I walk along the row of shops I sit on one of the many benches and read a piece of the newspaper before disposing of it.  There are seats everywhere, some in the sun and some in the shade.  Everything seems to be arranged for the comfort and convenience of the public.  At one point I sit and chat with a lady of my age, she is catching a bus to meet her daughter at the Westfield Mall.  She tells me about her life.  I ask about the buses, she says that seniors don’t pay for the bus, but the regular bus charge was $5 to get into Auckland.  I notice that Cathy’s boys don’t have cars.  They can either walk into the town or catch a bus.  What a savings!   

Browns Bay

I walk to the end of the row of shops and cross over the road and make my way back.  Stop for a cup of coffee, every cup of coffee I had in New Zealand and Australia was excellent.  At the junction there is a band playing country and western music and rock and roll and people strole around comfortably.  I buy stamps at the post office which is combined with the Kiwi Bank.  I move along to the beach and watch all the activity.  Families drive their boats down to the beach, unhitch, throw down an anchor and leave the children hanging on while they drive their SUVs off the beach to find a parking space.  Some bring their boats down by tractor. I am joined by a friendly couple from Bangladesh who loved New Zealand.  The young man had gone home to find a wife; they were Moslem and extremely happy  just learning they were to be parents.

Home on the beach

The next day we decided to take Chelsea to the Zoo. After our visit to Margaret and Clive and the party they were hosting for the many grandchildren, we went on to see Cathy’s aunt, sister to Clive.  The house was on the beach and naturally gorgeous.  I nearly fall out of the car.  “You didn’t tell me they were millionaires!” I exclaim to Cathy!  The house was magnificent, all  white inside and out with pale blue carpets. It is like something out of a magazine. I stagger in, “This house is marvelous, what is it worth?” I say disrespectfully.  “$2 million, $3 or maybe $4”?  They laugh and agree.  They are the sweetest and most charming couple.  They have lived all over the world, even in Northern California, and bring out a map to show me where they lived.  They are thinking of selling the house;  I tell them to keep it. 

But then it is time for Cathy, Chelsea and I to take off for Sydney.