Some culture shocks in New Zealand for an expat from Britain.
Some culture shocks in New Zealand for an expat from Britain.
I was born in the United Kingdom and came to New Zealand on a working holiday visa in 2012. These are the culture shocks that perplexed me the most when I arrived, writes Anna Sarjeant
Estate agents are demi-Gods
Way back in 2012, when I first arrived in New Zealand, it took me a little while to realise that the billboards flaunting politicians were in fact, real estate agents.
I was well accustomed to seeing the big, teethy grins of local MPs splashed across bus stops in the UK, but I wasn’t ready for 3m x 6m billboards showcasing estate agents like they were blockbuster movie stars. I blame half my furrowed brow lines on staring at these giant strangers wondering why I should care.
I couldn’t fathom – still can’t – why this one profession was given such a stage, and why I should be presumably awestruck that (insert name here) had sold yet another house. Surely, that’s the point?
That said, when I later bought a home, I very much liked our estate agent and he still comes round for a cup of tea now and again. His face is on our fridge in the form of a magnetic notepad.
House for sale sign in Auckland. Photo / Chris Loufte
Eating in season is a thing
Before arriving in NZ, the concept of ‘eating in season’ was something our grandparents did, when the world was still black and white and people rode penny farthings.
In all my 26 years, eight of which I’d been buying my own groceries, a punnet of cherry tomatoes was 79p ($1.70) regardless of the month or season. It’s all I’d ever known; I never gave any thought to how or where it came from.
My naivety continued right up until the day I decided – during an NZ winter - to make a moussaka and stood, open-mouthed at the supermarket, staring at a $6 aubergine (that’s eggplant to you). I was flummoxed. Worse, I needed two! That was how I learned to make lasagne.
These days, I’ve adjusted to the system and enjoy the challenge of creating meals with seasonal ingredients (read as: ingredients we can afford without remortgaging the house).
These days, I enjoy the challenge of creating meals with seasonal ingredients.
Unattended belongings are normal
Soon after arriving in Auckland I joined the gym. My jaw almost hit the floor when I discovered how many gym goers left their belongings in lockers without a padlock.
I half expected to finish my class and come out to a flurry of panic. What shocked me more was that I didn’t.
Similarly, walking down the busiest street in the CBD, scores of people had their wallets and phones in their back pocket. I’m no thief but even I could have pinched half of them unawares.
Twelve years later and I am equally guilty of being a little blase with my bag; my UK-based mother-in-law visited at Christmas and almost gave herself a hernia when she saw me put my phone and wallet in the shopping trolley.
I’m not saying NZ is crime-free, (where is?) but if you left your gear unattended in a UK gym, they’d take everything right down to your sweaty socks.
If you left your gear unattended in a UK gym, they’d take everything right down to your sweaty socks.
Nightclubs? That’s a straight no
During my nightclub era, circa 2002 – 2011, it wasn’t a night out unless you lost all your friends across seven floors within the first 40 minutes.
It was therefore with shock, that having spent hours getting ready for my inaugural “Auckland night out” I found myself in an old man’s bar. I’d been told it was “the place” to go, so I’d assumed it was like all other regaled venues and the city’s biggest, most chaotic nightclub.
I somewhat embarrassingly arrived in full attire: heavy makeup, eight-inch heels and fake eyelashes, and entered a decidedly shabby front room with people eating cheese platters and wearing Chuck Taylors.
Fine, I thought, this must be the dive bar where we all congregate before the main club. Alas, no. There was no nightclub that night, nor since.
For me anyway, I can’t tell you what exists these days as I am of an age where cheese platters – at home - are the definition of Saturday night bliss.
This isn't a nightclub. Photo / Babiche Martens.
Food is NZ’s biggest secret
A bad meal is one thing I can’t say I’ve had a lot of in New Zealand.
A merit that doesn’t relate solely to cost, you can have an outstanding feed at both a five-star restaurant and a food market.
There is a culinary prowess in this country that – shockingly to me – doesn’t seem to have penetrated the rest of the world as much as it should have. If you live here, you know as much, but when I was in the UK, I only knew NZ had good lamb.
This is something I discussed recently with Tim Smith, head chef at the Runholder in Martinborough. The NZ-based Australian chef is also the former executive chef at luxury lodge Wharekauhau in Palliser Bay and has worked the world over, so when he agreed with me that NZ’s culinary talent is wildly underappreciated outside of NZ, I felt validated.
Britomart's Amano is great for sharing plates of pasta with a glass or two of prosecco. Photo / amano_nz Instagram
Houses are unnecessarily cold
I have endured many uninsulated houses in New Zealand. At worst, I went to bed in a down jacket and watched clouds of my breath unfurl towards the ceiling. At best, I made it a monthly habit to wipe off the mould that collected behind my mirror.
One of the biggest perks of Auckland is that it doesn’t get particularly cold, even in winter, but it gets cold (and damp) enough to warrant insulated walls and heating, even if the latter’s used sporadically.
While central heating might be overdoing it, non-insulated houses and single-pane windows make no sense to me.
By the time the Healthy Homes regulation was updated in 2022, to ensure landlords provide one or more fixed heaters in the main living area, I’d bought my first home and married a builder (thank God). But I’m pleased no one else has to face $1000 monthly electricity bills because their flatmates use electric heaters 24/7.
New Zealand houses are cold. Photo / 123rf
Coffee after 3pm is illegal (I think)
During a trip back to the UK last July, I told the girl at a garden centre cafe that she made a brilliant flat white. She looked at me like I was unhinged.
It seems the British still have no idea that their coffee is by-and-large, revolting. Perhaps the best part of the drink was that it was served after 5pm.
Later, I went out for a meal and as is customary in the UK – although I suspect proximity to continental Europe plays a part – a coffee was offered afterward. It was 9pm.
Over the past 12 years, I’ve gone on about this so much that I’ve almost bored myself, but I will never understand why a nation of such avid coffee drinkers puts a stop to it at 3pm.
Businesses don't like to stay open late, unlike other countries. Photo / Getty
