Small Glory #19 - New Zealand’s Tourist-Puzzling Barefoot Life
No shoes = no blues. An ode to a carefree life lived in bare feet. Good on ya New Zealand.
If you walk into a primary school in New Zealand you will be greeted by a hurricane of joyous children running barefoot with grass-stained knees. Their feet will be tougher than leather — able to run over hot sand, rocky ground, and deflect even the largest of splinters. A life in our small island nation is a life characterised by barefoot escapades that stretch long past childhood. Going barefoot is a way of life, one that reaches deeper than you may think.
My first school camp was spent in the depths of rural Taranaki at a place called Te Wera which means ‘the burnt place’. This remote spot lies on a road called The Forgotten World Highway. We sat in cars and wound our way along tight country roads before arriving at a clearing next to a stream and towering hills. Three-person bunk cabins dotted the area. We didn’t spend much time inside. We never did. We ran wild and free. Just like we did at school. Shoes were optional and they remained that way even as we walked into the bush to go eeling. First we sat sprawled outside on the grass splitting the tip of a bamboo stick readying it for a flax line. We then used our finger nails to strip harakeke (flax) down to its fibres before threading it onto the bamboo stick. Next, we tied something (maybe a worm) onto the bottom and wandered down to the stream in our bare feet. We said karakia then stood chatting away waiting for a bite. We caught some eels and later smoked them to eat. Unfazed by the dirt between our toes and our dishevelled hair, we were happy. The complete immersion I got to experience as a child in the natural world — at one with the rhythms of food gathering — greatly influenced my connection with, and appreciation for, Mother Nature.
Shoes are optional in New Zealand and it shocks a lot of first time visitors to our corner of the South Pacific. People often think, ‘can they not afford shoes? are they homeless?’ as they see kiwis nip to the supermarket baring their toes to pick up a few things they missed earlier. I must say though, child poverty is a major player in New Zealand society and some children whether they choose to or not, are in bare feet when they really shouldn’t be. I will continue on though, with my ode to the barefoot life that has been wilfully chosen.
Shoes are optional in New Zealand.
I didn’t realise how perplexing going barefoot was until I read an article years ago on our national news website Stuff. Some lady from Scotland who wrote the article put going barefoot as the number 1 thing of 15 things no one told her about living in NZ. That’s when I started realising, yes we really do go barefoot everywhere. As a child I would often hop into the car without shoes and arrive somewhere like the supermarket, jump out and mum would make the comment that my feet would get quite dirty. But otherwise she wouldn’t care that I was trailing behind her and the trolley slapping my bare feet on the supermarket floor. No one batted an eyelid either. And it wasn’t because I was a child. I did just the same thing this summer as a 21 year old. I went to the supermarket with mum barefoot, in my togs (swimsuit) with just a towel wrapped around me. No one cared. Not in the slightest. It simply didn’t matter.
At primary and intermediate school we weren’t allowed shoes inside, so most people just went without them the entire day. Not even bothering to bring a pair to school. But we’d have to sit in the bath for a long time trying desperately to scrub our feet clean before getting into bed. In most New Zealand homes it is an unsaid rule that you remove your shoes before entering. It may come across as overly cocky to walk straight into a house shoe-clad. Most homes have a shoe rack by the entrance to leave them at. People wander around inside in bare feet or socks. This has roots in a few places. One being the cultural practice of removing footwear before entering the wharenui (meeting house) at a marae (buildings and grounds complex for carrying out meetings or activities within a community). Māori culture expects footwear to be removed in wharenui, and so footwear is removed in homes too. That is the way it is and it is lovely. Another root is that many kiwis come from rural backgrounds, so muddy footwear is silly to wear in the house. Therefore off come the gum boots and out come the feet.
If I’m wandering around the house in socks and realise I need to water the vege garden, instead of putting on shoes I simply take off my socks. I walk outside and love the feeling of damp grass beneath my feet. I listen to the water hit the leaves of plants, I look to the sky and watch birds soar, and in that moment I feel blindingly present. I feel at peace and connected to something greater.
There is a poem I like by Hone Tuwhare, a New Zealand poet that reminds me of the glory of our barefoot life. It’s called Papa-Tu-A-Nuku (Earth Mother).
Papa-Tu-A-Nuku
(Earth Mother)
We are stroking, caressing the spine
of the land.
We are massaging the ricked
back of the land
with our sore but ever-loving feet:
hell, she loves it!
Squirming, the land wriggles
in delight.
We love her.My friend and I make sure to go barefoot long before summer arrives. Preparing our soles for hot sand, rock-hopping and games of touch rugby on dry grass that inevitably arise during a New Zealand summer. We drive to the beach and leave a pile of shoes and towels and go exploring. We never worry they will be stolen. They never are. I once saw mis-matched shoes all lined up at the track entrance to the beach. Someone had carefully placed them, the shoes sat waiting patiently for their owners to find them again. The bare foot life is respected by all. Lone shoes aren’t lost shoes, just waiting shoes. Waiting for their owner’s feet.
I like not wearing shoes. I like feeling the earth beneath my feet. I like the dry grass, hot sand, and rough rocks. I like knowing people have walked this land before me. It connects me to all those who have known this place just as I do. Have known the feeling of Mother Earth holding us. Have known the feeling of love that comes with it. Taking your shoes off is a stripping back, an openness to the rawness of the land. It is a connection, a return, and a way of life. I think kiwis are onto something. No shoes = no blues. Good on ya New Zealand.
Kate, this is marvelous! Such a fun thing to know about New Zealand! I would fit right in, I do not like wearing shoes at all! Good on ya NZ for sure!
I was nearly always bare foot during the summer as a child. Never really thought about it, it was just what one did.