What could be worse than having to travel around our fantastic country talking to its fabulous people? On the eve of the 175th anniversary of the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, Bruce Munro draws the short straw and heads off on a whistle-stop nationwide road trip to discover who we are and who we are becoming.
iHere is where my cells and I part company. We are in a narrow hallway on the third floor of the grand old 1920s anatomy department building fronting a leafy, cobblestoned corner of the University of Otago campus, in Dunedin.
The business end of a medical swab is scraping the inside wall of my cheek. It is not painful, but rough enough to take a few cells. Those cells will be taken to a laboratory somewhere on campus and burst open by white-coated research scientists (or more likely their minions, but still undoubtedly wearing white coats). The DNA, containing the recipe for a middle-aged, vertically challenged bespectacled journalist, will be extracted. Then the mitochondrial DNA, the ingredients inherited from my mother, will be amplified, tagged and sent to Melbourne for sequencing.
While my DNA takes an overseas trip, I will be heading out of town on my own jaunt.
For as long as I can remember, I have harboured questions about what it means to be a New Zealander. Who are we? What are our distinctive traits? What do they say about us? Are they serving us well?Over the years, I've discovered other Kiwis share these concerns. They are obvious questions for inhabitants of a small young country floating at the bottom of the planet. And they are increasingly pressing questions as a globalised world comes knocking at our door. Who are we becoming? What do we not want to become? And will we arrive in one piece?So I'm about to hit the road for a 5600km nine-day whistle-stop tour of the whole country, talking to academics about what their studies tell us about who we are. There are a bunch of pointy-headed individuals in different universities and various disciplines who are researching issues of New Zealand identity. My job will be to turn their insights into everyday words. I'll also be asking ordinary Kiwis of all shapes and colours, from Bluff to the Cape, to share their experiences and thoughts on being citizens of Godzone.
My liberated DNA will be aiding and abetting this quest. It is one of 2000 samples being taken from people throughout New Zealand for fascinating research called the Africa to Aotearoa project. The project is part of an international National Geographic study which is using people's genetic information to chart how humans, starting from a common ancestor in Africa about 150,000 years ago, spread throughout the world. The longest of those journeys was the one to New Zealand, the last major land mass to be settled. Heading the New Zealand component of this project is Prof Lisa Matisoo-Smith, a genetic anthropologist at the University of Otago. It is in the hallway outside her office that the cell swab is being taken. New Zealand is small enough to make it feasible to get a representative genetic sample of the whole population, she says. By comparing the genetic groupings here with those found elsewhere, it will show the diverse paths people groups have taken to reach our shores since humans left Africa about 65,000 years ago. It will also give a snapshot of the genetic make-up of New Zealanders today and, it is hoped, stimulate discussion about both our shared ancestry and our increasing diversity, Prof Matisoo-Smith says.
I will be fascinated to see what our DNA reveals.
It is about deep ancestry, she cautions. It will show the broad brushstrokes of tens of thousands of years' migration, not whether my ancient genes enjoyed a few seasons on the Riviera before taking the waters at Bath.
For example, the genetic markers being looked at do not show any difference between Maori and other Polynesians. There are differences, of course, but they are social, cultural and linguistic rather than genetic, she says.
My mind jumps to a quote attributed to a Maori elder. It was that those in the first waka to reach these islands were not Maori, but Pacific Islanders. Theirs was a world of coconuts, atolls and tropical heat, not moa, mountains and snow. It was by living here, interacting with this particular landscape and its flora and fauna, that they became Maori, he said.
It strikes me that the notion we are shaped by our geographical location might be foundational to the question of who we New Zealanders are. The DNA results will take some time to come back, so it is time to hit the road, starting with that question: ''Are we all people of the land?''PEOPLE OF THE LANDBy hitting the road, I actually mean a 10-minute stroll across campus to the office of Dr Lyn Carter, a senior lecturer at Te Tumu, the university's School of Maori, Pacific and Indigenous Studies. Her fields of expertise include the interplay between environment and identity. Her focus is the important role place-names play in our understandings of and connections to a landscape. Take Tuhoe, for example, Dr Carter says. Everyone knows they come from that amazing mountainous North Island region called Te Urewera. It defines who they are. And because of that association, when we are told someone is Tuhoe it influences how we think about them.
But, I want to know, did the Ureweras make Tuhoe the people they are?Their origin stories call them ''children of the mist'', created within that environment, she replies.''
That's the meaning of tangata whenua, that this place is where your whakapapa started,'' Dr Carter says.''
It means more than just people of the land, it means you are part of the land.''
And the same goes for all iwi.''
People shaped the land, and were also shaped by the land,'' Dr Carter says.''
Its rivers, its mountains, its gullies, its wetlands and other features determine how you are going to engage with it ... So environment does shape who people are.''
As I take my leave, I think, OK, that makes sense, in theory. But will it hold water when put to the test? And what about those who are not Maori? I'm about to find out.
A pastel-coloured Saturday sunrise is being reflected on Otago Harbour as the road-trip proper begins. The sky is grey and the air moist as we drive out of Dunedin, headed for the South Island's southern extremity. I say ''we'' because travelling with me is my eldest son, Elliot (18), who has informed me he is just along for the food. He reaches for the all-important ''aux'' cable dangling from the car stereo and plugs the free end into his iPod.''
Pistol grip pump on my lap at all times,'' bellows an angry Jewish-Latino brutha in surround sound. It is going to be an education.
By 9.30am, we have found our way to Bluff, a jutting rocky promontory bounded on one side by a small harbour beyond which is flat, marshy farmland, and on the other by a churning, unforgiving Foveaux Strait. The township has history in abundance, but seems to wear its many vacant shops and closed factories like a shrunken old dame refusing to give up the over-sized, moth-eaten fur coat of her glory days.
I am here to talk to mutton-birding husband and wife Graeme and Erina Anderson. I want to learn about their connection to the titi (muttonbird) islands and whether it has shaped who they are.
Mrs Anderson was born at Bluff and raised on Rakiura (Stewart Island). Mr Anderson, a commercial fisherman, has lived in Bluff all his life. Both are of Kai Tahu descent. Through family, he has rights to harvest titi (sooty shearwater) on Taukihepa (Big South Cape Island), reached by a five-hour open sea boat journey south of Bluff. Mrs Anderson has an ancestral blood right to harvest on Tia,a closer island on the east side of Rakiura. Both went muttonbirding as children. But for Mrs Anderson it was a bigger deal.''
I was probably still in nappies when I first went,'' she says.''
Back then, we would go for the whole season, which was more than two months.''
The entire family would make the trip and stay the course - preparing the campsite; nanau-ing (extracting) the young chicks; torching (catching the fledglings when they emerged on moonless, stormy nights); then plucking, gutting, salting and packing the birds, 20 to a bucket.
These days, because of busier lifestyles, most people do not go down to the islands until ''the torching'', about Anzac Day, and stay for three weeks or less.
''I get a certain feeling in about February,'' Mrs Anderson says.
''It's like a calling. I want to get down there.''
Muttonbirding is not a holiday; it's hard work, the couple say.
''But you just do what has to be done.''
Protecting the birds' habitat and looking after the resource was impressed on Mrs Anderson from the beginning.
''We don't take the parents, so the population continues. And we just take enough to eat and to cover expenses,'' she says.
Hard work and looking after what you have got: two values learned young on that small, bush-covered island which have guided her adult life on the mainland.
I don't know if school exams still ask pupils to ''compare and contrast'', but that is next on my agenda. Driving north, away from Bluff, we are soon passing through a New Zealand of the 1970s calendar variety; lush green paddocks, plenty of sunshine in a light blue sky, fluffy clouds and distant mountains tinged with snow. The GPS navigation map has been taking us steadily towards the Central Southland farm of brothers Brooke and Duncan Henderson. These two men are the sixth generation of Hendersons on a few hundred hectares about 6km from Winton. Having talked to the muttonbirders, I now want to see how Pakeha with a long connection to the land feel about their bit of sod and what impact it has had on them.
We are making good time, twisting and turning deeper into the hinterland. And then we fall off the map.
The all-seeing satnav insists we have arrived, but clearly we haven't. Somehow we have entered GPS terra incognita. We bounce along dusty farm roads trying to find our way back to the highway, and are relieved to find a local who can give directions. About 20 minutes late, we pull up the driveway of Hendersons' Craighouse, the main homestead of the 254ha sheep and beef farm established in 1863 by Scottish migrants Walter and Helen Henderson.
''This was a great place to grow up,'' Duncan says.
''We had the freedom as kids to do what we wanted.''
I am seated at the family's dining-room table in a spacious and airy 1970s brick house. With me are the two brothers and their wives, Lisa and Kerry. Their four children are playing inside and out, while Elliot sits on a couch engrossed in a John Grisham novel. Watching over proceedings from high on the wall are three enormous hunting trophies: a caribou, moose and a Dall ram brought back from the Yukon in 1968.
''We were lucky to have that patch of bush over there, which is unusual on the flats,'' Brooke says.
''Duncan and I used to scoot over there and do all sorts of things as youngsters. Building huts, exploring, trapping possums.''
That patch of bush - 6.5ha of native trees on productive flat land - is possibly unique in this region. There are, however, no covenants on it. It could be milled tomorrow if they wanted to.
''But we don't,'' Brooke says emphatically.
''There's always been a family taboo on touching that bush.''
Growing up, a lot of time was spent at their grandparents' place. Their granddad, Lance Henderson, taught the boys to shoot and drive.
As they reached their teen years, they were expected to help out more on the farm.
''We spent a lot of time in the woolshed, sorting dags,'' Duncan says with a wry smile and a small sigh.
At times, things were tough. They watched as their parents and extended family responded to floods, low wool prices, the removal of farm subsidies, unseasonal snow and high interest rates.
''I think it made us realise you have to work hard to get anywhere,'' Brooke says.
''That's what we got taught when we were kids: the value of knuckling down and working hard and battling through.''
''And saving for the tough times. Granddad was really big on that,'' Duncan adds.
Both men studied at Lincoln University and spent time away before returning to the farm.
Yes, there is a strong sense of attachment to this place, they say.
''The length of time our family has been here is certainly part of it,'' Duncan says.
''It's a great bit of land. Although the weather can be quite tough here at times. But we always come back for more.''
Ensuring the land is maintained in good condition is vitally important, they say.
''It's got to be sustainable. That's why we aren't going down the dairy path,'' Brooke says.
''The soil structures aren't suited to that style of farming. There are a lot of natural springs coming up through the limestone, so you need to think about that ... we want to have a reasonably small impact on the land.
''Granddad was thinking that way too ... He never wanted to see dairying here.''
They would like to see their children continue the Henderson tradition of working the land, but say it is becoming a ''harder and harder option''.
A couple of thoughts coalesce as we speed north on State Highway 6, watching the southeastern flank of the Southern Alps draw closer and larger.
There is no doubt we are shaped by this land. Yes, those in closer contact with it feel its sculpting hands more keenly. But the cumulative effect of several generations of living in this unique environment has, on the whole, moulded us all in similar ways. It is a beautiful but challenging land which is both generous and demanding. New Zealanders who have truly been forged by these lone islands recognise their beauty and their value and want to see that preserved and passed on. They have been taught by it that to survive and flourish one has to ''knuckle down'' and ''just do what has to be done''.
Maori, Pakeha, Indian or Irish, as New Zealanders we may not look the same on the outside. But after a few generations, the distinctive identity of papatuanuku, the earth mother, the land of Aotearoa, becomes imprinted on us all.
Cresting a hill, the saw-toothed mountains now looming on all sides, we spy the shimmering waters of Lake Wakatipu. The road, cut into the mountainside, traces the lake edge as it bears us towards Queenstown.
The stationwagon in front is crammed with packs and bed-rolls. Out of a side window appears an arm holding a camera to capture the stunning views. It is withdrawn, but reappears a few minutes later.
I feel a burst of pride at the thought of this carload of young tourists marvelling at our country. We New Zealanders do that a lot, don't we? We like to know foreigners are thinking well of us.
What is it that we want them to think about us? How are we trying to present ourselves to the outside world? And what does that say about us?I push down on the accelerator, keen to find out.
ON THE WORLD STAGEThe Crown Range road, a shortcut to Wanaka, is a great drive. The Jacob's Ladder climb offers excellent views down the broad valley back towards Queenstown, Coronet Peak and the Remarkables.
We've had a competition running all day: the person who speaks to the most strangers in a fake foreign accent gets to choose where we eat for tea. On the outskirts of Wanaka I pull over to ask directions employing an accent which sounded more Scandinavian in my head than on my lips. I win one-nil. We eat curry and naan in a warm breeze on the lakeshore then push on towards Haast Pass, gateway to the West Coast.
It is dark by the time we reach our accommodation in Haast. But the question of how the rest of the world perceives us is niggling. I head over to the holiday park's communal kitchen and find two tourists, Vea Samitier and Ester Sebastia, of Aragon, northern Spain. They are a little reluctant but agree to answer a couple of questions.
They are on a three-week holiday spanning Australia and New Zealand, they say. It's a lot to take in through a narrow window. Their perception of New Zealand before landing at Christchurch Airport three days ago was that it was a country of ''nice people, wild nature ... green ... a lot of sheep, different fauna ... and rare animals''. Driving west, they traversed the wide Canterbury Plains, climbed alpine Arthurs Pass, and headed south through coastal Westland. The diversity and beauty of the landscape was ''surprising ... even though we expect it''. But they have had little interaction with New Zealanders, and admit their itinerary does not afford much scope for hanging with the locals.
I ask to take a photo but they decline. I retreat, a little concerned that our short conversation may end up being one of their longer ones with a Kiwi, and that it might well have taken the shine off their ''nice people'' perception.
Crossing the car park, I am cheered by a dazzling full moon blooming on the horizon.
By 7am Sunday, we are an hour into our journey, whistling north along an empty Glacier Highway towards Greymouth. Rounding a bend on the edge of a small lake, we are confronted by a full-grown deer grazing the roadside grass. In a moment, it bounds across the road directly in front of the car, leaps up a bank and disappears into the thick bush. Wow!Ruggedly handsome coastline has given way to seductive, enveloping forest punctuated at regular intervals by icy, boulder-strewn rivers giving glimpses of the distant, mighty Alps.
This undoubtedly deserves its reputation as one of the world's top 10 scenic drives. We stop at Hokitika to stretch our legs. I'm on the lookout for another visitor to quiz about views of this country from afar. I want to get a sense of how we are projecting ourselves and how well this image matches reality.
Summer Yoast is sitting on a bench in Hokitika. She has just finished talking by cellphone to her boyfriend in California. The psychology and art history student is looking forward to seeing him again after five months on study exchange at Victoria University, in Wellington. This last week is being spent touring the South Island with friends.
Her brother-in-law is a Kiwi and he is ''the most adventurous-spirited, friendly person I know''. So her expectations were pretty high before she arrived in New Zealand.
The reality, however, has been ''even better''.
''The people are what make New Zealand what it is,'' she enthuses.
''Every Kiwi I've met is willing to talk to you and help out. The first time I got lost here, someone actually walked me to the place I needed to go.''
Nearby, Russell Price, a Hokitika local, is standing on the footpath playing a flute and a tambourine with his foot. He busks here every couple of weeks to raise money for a World Vision sponsor child, he says.
His view has less of a rose tint.
''We live in a pretty free and good country,'' he offers.
''But we tend to keep to ourselves the bad things that happen here.''
The stunning scenery carries us all the way to lunch in Greymouth. If you haven't been to the delightfully down-to-earth DP1 Cafe for some of their heavenly food, your life is incomplete. While Elliot mines a mountain of roasted tomato, bacon, egg, mushroom, hash browns, sausage and sourdough bread, I'm finishing my pancakes with berries and maple syrup and thinking about who could provide insight to our performance on the world stage.
Prof Robert Patman answers my phone call. He is head of the department of politics at the University of Otago and specialises in foreign policy, international relations and global security.
We like to present ourselves as independent and not afraid to make hard decisions, Prof Patman says. New Zealand's 1984 stance against nuclear-powered or -armed warships is a good example. We think of ourselves as good international citizens who take seriously the rule of law and human rights.
''We have prided ourselves on our support for human rights, based partly on our domestic experience,'' Prof Patman explains.
''There has always been a connection between how New Zealand conducts itself at home, particularly in relation to Maori, and the way we support human rights overseas.
''No-one is claiming we've got it 100% right, but the Treaty settlement process was seen as path-breaking.''
Also, we are extremely keen to promote ourselves as clean and green. The 100% Pure campaign has been used extensively overseas. Lastly, we like to be seen as a nation that has no particular axe to grind and has a special ability to get on with a wide variety of players, he says.
''What I've found fascinating is that New Zealand hasn't given up on its old commitments but it's widened them,'' he says.
''We still do a lot of business with the EU, the United States and Australia, but we are also looking to China, and we are trying to play a major role in the Pacific.''
In 2008, New Zealand became the first developed Western country to sign a free trade agreement with China.
These sorts of ideas about ourselves were the basis of last year's winning bid for a seat on the United Nations Security Council.
We may think we have successfully sold our image to the international community, but is it a real representation?In two respects, Prof Patman fears it is not.
There is a gap between aspiration and reality when it comes to being clean and green, he says.
''I think this country has an enormous amount going for it. But I think most New Zealanders would say we've still got work to do on the environmental front. Look at our rivers, for example.''
The other matter is related.
''One of the things I've picked up when I've been speaking to people outside New Zealand is that they are disappointed New Zealand hasn't shown the sort of leadership that it showed over nuclear power when it comes to questions of climate change.
''I think there is a slight concern that New Zealand sometimes has not spoken out on these things because we don't want to offend powerful friends.''
I thank him and hang up. It is a sobering thought. Our rivers suggest we are not everything we say we are. And climate change highlights the possibility that at this point we are not as independent in our thought and action as we want to be.
What does this tell us about ourselves?We aspire to, and often attain, laudable attributes: defending human rights, cultural sensitivity, upholding the rule of law, environmental stewardship, international co-operation.
But it seems we are not sure we possess them unless someone else tells us we do. In fact, we are so concerned to make sure others believe it of us we sometimes make the appearance the priority instead of focusing on taking the steps to make it so.
There is a way forward, but it may not be comfortable. If we look at how our identity has changed, even in recent times, it has been watershed moments that have been the catalysts for progress.
The 1975 land march, led by 80-year-old Whina Cooper, caused upheaval. It prompted often painful soul-searching among many middle New Zealanders and gave a shot in the arm to the newly formed Waitangi Tribunal, which was finally beginning the examination and redress of more than century-old wounds to the partnership between Maori and Pakeha.
And it was not until the aftermath of the tumultuous, flour-bomb and baton-ridden 1981 Springbok rugby tour, which threatened to tear apart the fabric of New Zealand society, that we came out (almost) unambiguously against apartheid.
Could it be that the embarrassment of tourists flocking to 100% Pure New Zealand and discovering our rivers are too polluted for swimming forces us to make our catch-cry an ingrained reality?
And could our new role on the UN Security Council, in a world where problems are truly global and require a co-operative response, not a superpower veto, give us the opportunity to make hard choices which cement a truly independent, outward-focused Kiwi ethos?
Bruce Munro travelled courtesy of Jucy Rentals. His stay on the West Coast was hosted by Haast River Top 10 Holiday Park.
