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A weekly ode to the joys of moaning about your holiday, by Tim Roxborogh.
Some cultural stereotypes are more accurate than others, such as Germans uniformly waking up early on holiday to put towels out on sun-loungers. Then there are others that may be more than a little unfair, such
as lazy, racist assumptions about driving skills.
One that surely falls into that first category of "OMG, it's actually true" would have to be the volume with which many of our American friends talk. It hits me every time I'm in the States: Americans really do talk louder than the rest of us.
You notice it most when you're waiting in line for something. There will be someone talking with the sort of decibel level that, if they were a Kiwi, would suggest they fancy themselves as a raconteur. It's a volume that does exist in other cultures, but the difference is that outside of the States it's traditionally only employed by people who think they're such a hoot they're doing everyone a favour by sharing the yarn.
In the US, the loud talker may be having an innocuous conversation on the phone with their wife about what time they'll be home. I keep expecting there to be some kind of humour in what they're saying because again, the volume tricks the uninitiated into thinking they're broadcasting to everyone for a reason.
But no. What sounds as if it's the laughter-inducing, "Okay Honey, I'll drop by the store and I'll be home by 6.30!" is in actual fact a mere straight-batted, "Okay Honey, I'll drop by the store and I'll be home by 6.30pm". No exclamation mark. The loudness of voice makes you think you've missed a punch-line when in actual fact there never was one. I've even mistakenly laughed at a loud-talker in a hotel lift, just to be polite. Only problem was he wasn't trying to be funny. I think he said something like, "Well it must be time for check-out!!" He delivered this line with such gusto that it sounded like a joke worthy of not one, but two exclamation marks. "Ha ha", I responded, before getting a strange look implying he, um, thought it was time for check out.
Every single time I drive through Taupo, I can't resist the little hole-in-one challenge on the lake. If you've been to Taupo at any stage since the attraction opened in 1993, I'm sure you know the basic plot. About 100 metres in the lake is a golfing green on a pontoon. Surrounded by water and with snowy mountains as the backdrop, it's a stunning scene. There are three flags and holes and while the prizes for the blue-and-white flags are more modest, if you get a hole-in-one on the red flag you get $10,000.
Apparently someone wins this cash every couple of weeks. Pretty incredible and proof of just how enticing the lure of $10,000 is for so many international (and domestic) tourists.
Herein lies the problem for me: I'm a useless golfer, but for some reason I can't stop myself from paying $20 for 25 balls that without fail will plop into the water. Wetsuit-clad divers retrieve these and no doubt it's a busy job.
The odd thing about the Taupo hole-in-one for me is that, not only am I a non-golfer, but a non-gambler too. I've been to one horse-racing event in my life, have played the pokies maybe three times in 36 years and have never once placed a bet on the cricket or the rugby. Though, when it comes to a floating golf green on a volcanic lake with chilly alpine winds? I can't help myself.
Maybe it's the ego of not just wanting to win cash, but to win it where people are watching. I try to play tricks with the universe, promising to donate to charity a portion of my future winnings, thinking that might improve my chances. Shockingly, this ploy is yet to yield results.
Tim Roxborogh hosts Newstalk ZB's The Two, Coast Soul on iHeartRadio and writes the RoxboroghReport.com