Just another trashy Kiwi in London

There’s a certain reputation that young New Zealanders living in London have, reinforced by witnessing a Waitangi Day pub crawl through the city – a combination of patriotism, humour, partying hard and camaraderie to the point that you exclusively hang with your countrymen.

Well aware of this, Stacey Knott moved to London when she was 25 with the best intentions of avoiding other Kiwis – but found it to be almost impossible.

As soon as I exited Heathrow Airport and got on the Piccadilly tube line, I unwittingly signalled myself as just another trashy young New Zealander relocating to London.

I wasn’t wearing jandles, didn’t have the New Zealand flag sewn onto my backpack, or an “I love Aotearoa” T-shirt on, but in my over-tired state I laughed out loud at the town the direction the train was going in – Cockfosters.

I moved to London in January 2011, aged 25, after living in the United States for a year. When I discovered the idea of going home after only 12 months away depressed me, I applied for a two-year UK work visa, booked my flight, farewelled my relationship and set out to London, which seemed like the easiest option since I knew people there already.

I had grand plans of spending two years building up my career and seeing as many surrounding countries as I could, all the while making a nice assortment of international friends and saving up money for my future.

I ended up living just off uber-hip Brick Lane in East London, though I lived down the not-so-cool end. Instead of opening my door and seeing trendy second-hand stores, commissioned graffiti, fixed-gear bikes and bars that oozed pretentious cool, on my doorstep were unruly junkies, prostitutes and dealers, with various curry and sewer smells wafting around. There was also a dive of a pub across the road, where bad karaoke was sung every weekend, and whose patrons I could spy on from my flatmate’s windows.

My house was a death trap, literally falling apart. When it rained, water ran down the inside walls; the kitchen was home to mice, and its walls were a vomit green; you needed a key to get out of the downstairs door (a big fire hazard); and the toilet pipes would sometimes come loose, sending water into the room of a flatmate who lived below the bathroom.

Culturally, I’ve never cared for sport; never seen a Lord Of The Rings film; haven’t eaten meat for over 15 years; never felt the need to get a New Zealand-shaped tattoo to remind me where I’m from.

When I moved in, my 1.6-metre by two-metre room had a discoloured, lumpy mattress on the floor, and the walls were permeated with cigarette smoke.

After a few days scrubbing and perfuming the room, I got myself a bunk bed and started a year-long adventure getting loose in London. It wasn’t my initial plan, but ended up being just want I needed.

At home, or in the US, I never considered myself particularly patriotic; I knew and appreciated New Zealand’s beauty, and the generally easy pace of life and Kiwi characteristics we are known for: ingenious, friendly, relaxed.

Culturally, I’ve never cared for sport; never seen a Lord Of The Rings film; haven’t eaten meat for over 15 years; never felt the need to get a New Zealand-shaped tattoo to remind me where I’m from; and I don’t care for the Australia-New Zealand rivalry. These are the aspects and associations with New Zealand culture that I soon found to be paramount whenever I came across fellow Kiwis, or got pulled into conversations with non-New Zealanders about my “quirky” accent.

Likewise, I was well aware of the tendency for Kiwis who moved to London to end up living with other Kiwis, spend a lot of time at Antipodean bars, and get over-excited about any New Zealand related events. I always saw this as stupidly pointless: why move to the other side of the world to hang with the same people?

I knew all about our reputation of hard-partying in London, thanks to the easy and very cheap access to various drugs. I’d had a few friends come back to New Zealand with some bad, unsustainable habits after having too much fun in London. And while in London, I soon figured at parties it was always the Kiwis (and the Aussies, to be fair) who were over-indulging big time, both with booze and drugs.

 I don’t think I would have ever willingly associated with those kind of people when I lived in New Zealand. Unintentionally, my snobbery about “typical New Zealanders” was totally busted in London.

On the more family-friendly side of things, I had friends who obsessively posted online about being homesick for New Zealand comforts and would spend all their extra pennies on Marmite, Jaffas, or 42 Below Feijoa cocktails.

I was determined not to be one of them.

I never went to an Antipodean bar, never attended or watched anything sport-related and avoided anything I knew New Zealanders would be at en-masse; I once accidentally walked into a Waitangi Day pub crawl and was instantly horrified.

But, in many ways, I became exactly what I wanted to avoid.

Most of my friends were from home. Some I met in London. Others went from being acquaintances at home to best friends in this new city.

Once you meet one Kiwi, there are ten more that they are friends with, so your circle grows. We hung out in the bars and streets surrounding Brick Lane, had roof-top parties at my house, and nights out in Camden and other spots throughout the city.

I soon found myself with friendships that may not have happened if we were at home in our normal environments. A lot of my friends lived for the annual Waitangi Day pub crawl, and busted the New Zealand flag out wherever possible. I don’t think I would have ever willingly associated with those kind of people when I lived in New Zealand. Unintentionally, my snobbery about “typical New Zealanders” was totally busted in London.

My assortment of New Zealand friends – from Brick Lane hipsters to South London boozehags – were way more fun, open and easy to be with than the English people I met. They were proud of being a bit trashy, took you for what you were, and were supportive when you needed it. I was constantly in states of hysterical laughter and was never bored, thanks to the company I kept.

Many of them were doing the same mind-numbing temp and office work I was. None of us were paid particularly well, or were being very productive when it came to our careers. We all soon resigned ourselves to our situations living paycheck-to-paycheck. I was freelancing here and there, but media jobs in London are notoriously competitive, and I needed to pay the rent for my shoebox of a room rather than intern for free to better my career.

I eventually moved to Edinburgh and then Ghana, re-focused and with a new, more relaxed outlook thanks to London living.

I left London as I arrived – pretty broke, and without the “big break” in my career. But I gained a whole new appreciation and understanding of my people. While you’ll never catch me draped in a New Zealand flag, now that I’m home after having had the time to reflect on our national identity, it’s easy to see why we hold onto it so tightly when we’re abroad.

We’re just really fun people to hang out with.

This story was brought to you with financial assistance from New Zealand On Air.