On English

While preparing for this trip down under, there was a part of me that was disappointed that I wasn't going to a foreign country with a foreign language. Part of the fun of traveling is the language: the mishaps that occur when you're attempting conversation; the glee of successful communication no matter how minor the success; the fun of conversing with someone in broken snippets of multiple languages because you don't share a common first language; and the immediate camaraderie created when you ask someone for their name in their language. (Read more from last year's post On the Butcheration of Language)

But in being here in New Zealand and meeting people from all over the world (Germany and England mostly, but also Chile, Taiwan, Canada, Switzerland, Brazil, and the Netherlands), it has become clear that communicating in English is neither straightforward nor dull. Varied accents abound and communication mishaps still occur, especially with those with English as a second language.

Kiwi bus driver to Marisol from Chile: You don't have any mulk in there do ya?
Marisol: Mulk? What is mulk?
Kiwi driver: Mulk. Mulk, you know…
(beat of silence)
Marisol: Meelk? You mean meelk?
Kiwi driver: Yeah, yeah, mulk!

In case you haven't figured out, mulk is meelk is milk!

Even I, a native English speaker, have been thrown off by the Kiwi accent on several occasions.

On the drive north out of Auckland, our bus driver Mike was telling us stories of the Marys. The Marys this, the Marys that, the Mary belief this, the Mary legend that…

"What on earth?!" I thought, "I didn't know that Catholicism and the Virgin were so important here." Then the Kiwi-speak dawned on me. Ohhh, he's talking about the Maoris, not the Marys!

The same bus driver also pointed out good spots for Forest Chicken for all those interested. "What on earth?" I thought, "I didn't realize there were chicken in this area, much less forest chicken. What the heck is a forest chicken?!" I mean, later on I did see some chickens but only on wide grassy deforested fields. Then the kiwi-speak translation kicked in. Ohhh, he means forest trekkin', not forest chicken!

Then there are Kiwis who are in a class of their own. Tawhiri (TA-fee-ree, meaning Windy in Maori), our guide-to-be for the Footprints tour into the Kauri forest at night, came to our hostel to give us the tragic news that due to the horrendous downpour of rain that blessed their normally sunny region, our tour was canceled. "Do you think it'll be the same tomorrow?" we asked. Turns out, the area doesn't get a weather forecast so it'd be hard to tell. Tawhiri told us that the day before it looked like the weather would be bad all day but by nighttime it was perfectly fine. He continued to say that today looked like a beautiful day at first but now, in his words, "it's rainin' like the shitzu!" My dismay at the canceled tour was summed up beautifully by Tawhiri's epic expression, "Flippin' shucks, mate!"

That line sent me scurrying for my journal and a nonexistent pen. I've decided that that phrase should be added to my speech in daily life. Instead of saying things like 'shoot,' 'oh dear' or 'crap,' I should now say with great exuberance, FLIPPIN' SHUCKS MATE!!

(edit 10/8. I've got another one. Tonight at the Mitai Maori cultural show and hangi, our host told us on several occasions that we should learn a "moldy song" to support the chief of our 20-nation tribe. He playfully sang this "moldy song" to us line by line and we sang this "moldy song" back to him, line by line. What on earth is a "moldy song" you ask? Why, it's a Maori song! Oh the confusion.)