One month ago – after a hop, skip, and a jump all the way from not-so-sunny Northern California, I arrived in New Zealand for the first time in my life. I’m here on a study abroad semester – which is technically slightly different than an exchange term, though I wouldn’t be able to explain the difference anyway. Back home, I go to a very small liberal arts (haha libshart) school on the American East Coast, in the world-famous state of Vermont. My college has about 2,800 students, and the town itself has fewer than 10,000 residents. So coming to a larger College (University, ig…) and a larger city was a major change of pace.
Nevertheless, the goal of my semester abroad was simple: Run the mean streets of North D.
As I pulled into the UniFlats office on the day of my arrival, I was immediately met with a flurry of questions and first impressions. Why is the weather so shit when it’s supposed to be summer? Why are there so many sheep? When do I get to meet Lorde? Just the basics, you know. After picking up my key, I began the schlep to my flat – located on none other than Castle Street. It was O-Week, apparently, so I was immediately greeted by bone-rattlingly loud music from across the street and eggs thrown by some second-years who asked what hall I was in. I’m damn near 22 years old and getting fresher accusations. You losers missed – and you missed badly. Don’t skip arm day next time.
My first afternoon in North D was just a taste of what was to come. Over the next two weeks I experienced beer showers, courtesy of the distinguished gentlemen of Death Star and my flat was robbed – which was totally not our fault (we forgot to lock the doors). My flatmates discovered the thief – a middle aged woman with bad makeup – piss drunk in the bathroom when they got home around midnight. She claimed she was just there to pee. But hours later, my flatmate found my retainer on her nightstand and we then realized she had stolen my flatmates’ makeup and a pair of my favorite sunglasses. I don’t want to know what she did with my retainer.
To the suspect in question: Count your days. You can run, but you can’t hide.
I hail from San Francisco, California, which is well known for its petty crime and rampant drug use. Despite this, SF (or as non Bay Area residents like to call it, San Fran), is a paradise compared to Castle Street. Those who grow up in SF are accustomed to having to step over a few needles here and there while walking around the Tenderloin district. Still, my training fell short in preparing me for the precarious tiptoeing required to avoid getting cut up on my flip-flop-clad walk to class. Seriously – why the bottle smashing? Were y’all not raised right? I know damn well none of the bottle boys on Castle Street are actually participating in the clean up process.
Classes have been their own beast. Before I got here, the biggest class I had ever taken had maybe 40 students – 45, max. Here, one of my lectures has 350. As a result, it's a bit harder to make friends in classes, but the people watching is unparalleled. In several of my classes, students will have full on conversations while the lecture is going. I promise we can all hear you – including the professor. I’ve seen one student grinding Clash Royale and others scrolling TikTok. It really made me wonder: do larger lectures remove the personal accountability of giving professors the respect they deserve? Then again, there was one kid in a class of mine back home who would watch Fortnite highlights the entire time so maybe college students being assholes is a universal experience. I mean, seriously? Fortnite in the big 2-6?
I came to New Zealand with big plans to get a car. My first week here involved daily Facebook Marketplace browsing, in which my flatmates gave me shit for doomscrolling but at least it wasn’t Instagram Reels. After a few unsuccessful test drives, I finally found the car of my dreams: a 2005 Honda CR-V. When I went to meet the seller, I was confronted with my first small world experience at Otago. The woman I bought the car from was none other than my economics professor. She told me she sometimes likes to read Critic, so I would like to take this moment to preemptively apologize for missing her class on Friday mornings to use the same car she sold me to travel around the South Island.
Shortly after our purchase, my car co-owner and I were driving to the beach and discussing our shared love for arugula – the leafy green that the rest of the world knows as ‘rocket’. To honor this love and its blistering acceleration ability, we named the car Rocket. It took me a bit to get adjusted to driving Rocket on the left side of the road. I find myself constantly activating my windshield wipers instead of my turn signal. Sometimes, when the moon is full, the roads are empty, and I’m feeling extra patriotic, I like to take Rocket out on the asphalt and drift back on over to the right side of the road – the right side of the road.
During my time here I’ve had to contend with being an American abroad during this particularly inflamed period of geopolitics. I have friends studying overseas whose host programs have told them to just pretend to be Canadian to avoid getting pressed by strangers, so needless to say, we are not too popular around the globe right now – and for good reason. On behalf of all Americans ever, I would therefore like to sincerely apologize to the global community: our bad. I guess I’m just glad I’m not studying in a country the US is actively trying to colonize.
I’ve also noticed that many people I know from home who are studying overseas tend to spend most of their time with other exchange students, which honestly makes sense. Frankly, I would probably be a victim of this pipeline too if I wasn’t hired at Critic before my arrival. Most exchange students come to New Zealand excited to meet new people and explore a new culture, but the reality is that it often doesn’t make sense for local students to befriend exchange students, because once the semester is over, we all leave.
Then again, I have only been here four weeks and my impressions of Otago are bound to change by the time I jet set back to the US come June. Still, I hope to get to know more local students by the time I leave. Even though we Americans can often be self-centered and ignorant, I make one parting request: try to befriend an exchange student. There are even some that aren’t American – crazy, right? I promise that once we stop telling you about how much freedom we have, we do actually want to get to know locals.
With just fourteen weeks left in the Southern Hemisphere, the clock is ticking to make the most of my semester abroad. But through the troubles and triumphs, I’ve managed to have a pretty great few weeks in this new place.
From the few Kiwi phrases I’ve picked up in the past few weeks, I’d have to say that so far, the University of Otago, and my New Zealand experience as a whole, has been sweet as.
