Erinn Goes Abroad

Colonialism like I’ve never known

Hours after my flight from Tahiti has landed back in Auckland, I find myself staring blankly at a cashier in an airport store.

“Have a nice day,” she says courteously. 

Wanting to reciprocate, I intend to thank her, but cannot. 

…During my past 5 months (gasp!) in New Zealand I have handily acquired “cheers” as a colloquial show of gratitude. Simple, laid back and cheer-y. Just as the name implies. It would have been a satisfactory response in this context.

But lo- the past three days I had been combing the volcanic beaches of Tahiti- an island of French Polynesia. Yes, it was as every bit fabulous as the billboards proclaim. Better, even. The best because I was there with my off-the-scales-amazing friends. I’ll spare you all of the rah-rah and verbose descriptions of glistening sand and lush vegetation to keep you from doubling over with envy. If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t all hibiscus and cocoanut milk. The main city of Tahiti, Papeete is impoverished. We’re talking people sleeping on the streets and a preponderance of feral dogs. The first night of our trip, we stayed in a hostel in town and witnessed all of this.

As you might cleverly suspect by its being a part of French Polynesia, Tahiti is a French territory. I have never encountered the aftermath of French colonization before. Of the places I’ve visited (and was born in), they have primarily had a British colonial influence. As independent and evolved the United States is as a country, the shadow of colonialism is still evident and part of our history. So much, that’s its difficult to pin point purely British cultural products within the United States (some times). 

I found the distinctly French presence blended with the native Polynesian culture to be quite intriguing. 

French cultural influence was as rampant as bamboo. French food, French fashion (Tangent: I still don’t get LongChamp. It sort of seems like a glorified beach bag) but more than anything, French language. It was the first language listed on signs and the spoken language of choice. I encountered several people who knew little or no English. Startled, I felt a little foolish for not doing my research and developing a vocabulary beyond “Bonjour, au voir, merci”. I mentally reached into my Italian reservoir hoping for some enlightenment. It may have aided with sign comprehension, but little beyond that. 

Thus, I potentially overcompensated by putting my 3-word vocabulary to thorough use. Opportunities were frequent! Besides, when the occasion calls for a mediocre performance of charades in order to ask about an internet cafe, throwing a “merci” or three in there is good measure. 

When the New Zealand cashier expected me to walk away (with or without saying thank you), I suspect she had no idea how many words were ping ponging through my head. 

Merci!

Cheers!

Thanks!

Grazie! 

It’s a relief to have so many words for thank you at my disposal. All of them are very important to their respective culture as signs of gratitude.

Gratitude is universal.