Cracking Kiwi-land?

“Right,” said the exasperated customs official at Auckland international airport to the poker-faced Chinese gentleman. “In your country, if yew make a false declaration on re-entering yer country, what happens?” Marion (The Chook) and I had arrived in Auckland from Shanghai on Saturday March 13. We had travelled Air New Zealand, a flight which is scheduled twice a week from Shanghai to Auckland and loaded with Chinese tourists. Many of the Chinese, it had now became clear to us , insisted on trying to bring in all sorts of products not allowed in New Zealand, even though the documents we had received on board had made this patently clear, and which their tour guides accompanying them also knew.

“ … on re-entering yer country, Choina … what happens?” came the peeved question again. The rhetorical enquiry lingered like the lull between the shimmer of lightning and the cascading thunder which follows.

The Chook and I couldn’t hear the muttered response as we sat waiting for our customs official to go through what we had declared on the Entry to New Zealand Form, such as more cash than normally allowed, which simply needed to be declared. But we became amused by the repetition of the question by various customs officials all dealing with a fascinating race we had had the privilege of dealing with for the last five years. One chap was trying to bring in about three kilograms of prescription medicines for which he had no prescription but a long tale we could not follow.

Eventually our customs officer came back with the required forms to record how much cash we had brought into the country in the form of US dollars and Chinese yuan. “Roight,” he said, in that lovely cracking snapper of an accent, “so yew’ve declared that you have brought cash into the country that’s more than the usually allowed amount”. His eyes twinkled with reassurance and kindness. “Above which, all yew needed to do was declare it. Well done on just doing the roight thing there.” Behind us echoed that frustrated refrain of a question like one of those final boarding calls for passengers: “Loik oi said.” Deep pause for breath. “If yew make a false declaration at the airport in yaw country, Choina. What. Will. HAPPEN?”

Our customs official raised his eyebrows as he scribbled down our declaration, and muttered an answer in sympathy with his beleaguered colleague. “Well, what will happen won’t be entoirely pleasant.” The Chook and I smirked and shook our heads all too knowingly at the debacle going on behind us, as any reader of my memoir or blogs, Cracking China, will understand. Our customs official thanked us again and we were on our way into Auckland to join the family in a six-bedroom home in North Shore. The home, now including us, like something out of Gerald Durrell’s My Family and Other Animals, includes seven highly individualistic and opinionated people.

I had been to Kiwi-land before but had never noticed the nature of the TV news which I blearily watched in a state of jet lag with Marion’s grandchildren the following day. The boys are two young, tall dudes, and, very, very theoretically, I would be the “step-grandfather” (aaaargghh!), but they just call me dude (cool). The headline news were about rare, Kiwi vintage planes, such as WWII Catalinas on an air show at Rotorua Airport in New Zealand. The other riveting bit on the headline news was the astonished reaction of the Kiwi public to a British Marine veteran’s face being erroneously used to advertise a Kiwi war museum. His face, instead of a patriotic Kiwi’s, had been used by mistake to advertise the NZ war museum for fifteen months. “See what his eyes have seen” is the slogan below his beret and craggy face as he gazes forward resolutely. This was headline breaking local news. The veteran was personally interviewed at his home where he was dressed in his full regimental uniform and wearing a glittering, cutlery service set of medals on his jacket which he was proudly showing off to the interviewer. I lapped up this island “insularity”, this homely, over-the-dinner-table nature of the local headline news. So refreshing compared to what is dished up in other, more “cosmopolitan” countries such as South Africa or propaganda-heavy China.

The next day on the TV news there was a bit about a Chinese tourist who was nabbed at Auckland’s airport for carrying half a suitcase of foods from Shanghai. Bringing organic products into the country are absolutely forbidden by NZ customs. The goods have thankfully no chance of passing the scanners at the airport. The Chinese visitor had made a false declaration on entering a beautiful island whose authorities go to great lengths to protect New Zealand’s vulnerable ecology. The Chinese gentleman paid the price, despite many warnings.

“Still having a go at the Chinese, Rod?” the reader might think. No, that is just how many of them are like from the Chinese mainland. And I have five years of experience to back that up. They are, by turn, exasperating, baffling, winsome. But from what I could see from the Kiwi customs officials, only the first two terms apply.

Said one of the dude juniors (step-grandchildren not) to me, “so dude, the school kids here in New Zealand are really difficult and terrible”. The dude juniors are also from South Africa, where students were (are they still?) a bit more respectful. “But with your size you could handle them alright as a teacher!” I will have to be a “learner teacher” initially. I have university degrees and experience, but not the required educational qualification. Any Kiwis out there in the know, please point me in the right direction to get this kind of job.

Yeah. The Chook and I are now for giving New Zealand a crack, which was always in the pipeline. So, for the nonce, welcome to Cracking Kiwi-land. I will change the title of this blog soonish.

Definitions of cracking: to give it a shot, to get a break, go crazy, excel, excellent, learn a code. Nerve-wracking at times, but the next step.