LEXI POLLARD
PRIDE STAFF WRITER
I grew up between two worlds—influenced by both American and Kiwi (Slang for New Zealander) culture. As a little girl, I lived in the United States, but spent countless holidays at my grandparents’ house in Auckland and our family “batch” (slang for small beach house), in a gorgeous community called Whangapoua. Last summer I made my most recent and ninth voyage to my second home. 19 years old and without my parents, I delved into the Kiwi youth culture with the help of my thrill-seeking cousins.
You can’t visit New Zealand without encountering large doses of adventure. My cousins, both in their early twenties, drove my brother and I four hours from Auckland to snowboard on Mt. Ruapehu, a breathtaking mountain slope. For those who have seen the Lord of the Rings films, Mt. Ruapehu serves as the scenery for Mt. Doom. The stunning snow-capped mountains contrasted with the blue sky to create a perfect winter escape. On another excursion, I white-water rafted a stage five river with a Kiwi guide who dared me to jump into the freezing rapids. Kiwi natives grow up with these experiences—close proximity to water, mountains and other terrain dictates a life of adventure.
Snowboarding, rafting, hiking and shopping for vintage clothing (a common fashion among the Kiwi girls) filled my days, all while eating all the New Zealand food I could handle. Sausage rolls covered in a flaky, buttery crust and Shepherd’s Pie consisting of mashed potatoes, minced meat and vegetables satisfied my appetite. My grandma’s homemade Pavlova, a fluffy, sweet cake topped with fresh fruit, was my choice dessert.
Quaint and unique coffee shops are plentiful in Auckland. One day, my cousin and I sat in a coffee shop, socialized, read fashion magazines and relaxed on comfy couches as we enjoyed the aroma and tastes of our hot drinks. I usually order a “flat white” coffee in New Zealand, a mixture of steamed milk and espresso. One of my favorite little quirks about the coffee shops is latte art: the design the barista makes with the foam.
The nightlife also surprised me. I noticed that among teens and young adults, especially in one bar I ventured into, the indie scene was popular. The DJ played Florence and the Machine while strings of lights twinkled above our heads. While New Zealand does have the standard hip-hop clubs that define the American youth culture, I found the diversity of social scenes refreshing.
Like many Californians, many young Kiwis flock to the beach whenever possible; beach camping is a popular summer activity in New Zealand. For three days, I relaxed on the familiar sand at Whangapoua beach, spent time with my family and indulged in my passion for photography by capturing the beach’s beauty. The sand stretches for a couple of miles, with a prominent island rock piercing the unbelievably blue water.
The dairies scattered across the town where my father grew up, the windy roads overshadowed by rich vegetation, the overwhelming number of sheep, and the comfort of my grandparent’s home reminds me of my visits as a young girl. The dairies were a part of my father’s childhood, and have lasted through generations of Kiwi culture—the landscape dotted with herds of sheep instead of California palms. The windy road that leads to my grandparent’s house contrasts with the straight roads and freeways (“motorways” in Kiwi slang) that stretch over Southern California.
Nostalgia always fills the piece of my heart that belongs to New Zealand; my older and more adventurous self appreciates the culture, which differs from my American life. Last summer, I discovered New Zealand in an entirely new way, unveiled my adventurous side and found inspiration to keep Kiwi culture present in my life.
Photos courtesy of Lexi Pollard