Busking in Mandarin

I feel as foreign as any non-native Wellingtonian. I am a Chinese busker, singing in Mandarin.

Well no, I am a Pakeha proofreader, checking in English, but I met a Chinese busker the other night. He had been standing on the doorstep of a shut commercial building, playing a guitar. I had never heard Mandarin-song busking, and had tossed $2 into his guitar case.

When I passed again later, he had his case on his back and was heading down Courtenay Pl. This street includes an open plaza, and that is where I found him, under a raucous, piratical sky.

He grinned and I asked, "How did you go?"

He did not understand the phrasing, so as we were blown in the same direction I kept trying.

"How was your busking? How did you like it? Did you make a lot of money?"

He understood the money question, and then explained he was not really a wandering minstrel.

"I am from China and you cannot just do what you want. So when I get here I am free, nobody cares I can do what I want!" He laughed with astonished glee and gestured with palms upturned.

"So I just sing once in public, because I want to try it."

I said he must be surprised more of us don't make use of our freedoms, then, such as the freedom to dance in the street. I leapt up and down to demonstrate. I would not go so far as to call it dancing.

The young man, still laughing giddily, agreed it was a puzzle. We shook hands and wished each other luck.

In the supermarket the self-checkout machine recognised me as an alien and raised the alarm. I had swiped a foreign barcode. "Assistance needed," it said.

Wellington Mayor Celia Wade-Brown. Photo Getty
Wellington Mayor Celia Wade-Brown. Photo Getty
An assistant came over and explained: "We don't use coupon books in the North Island. I always know who the South Islanders are because they try to swipe their coupon cards."

He swiped his authorisation card and I was permitted to proceed, albeit deprived of Southern discounts.

On Saturday, I sought a blessing from the civic mother, for a sense of matronage. I spied the mayor at a fair and introduced myself, explaining I was new in town and wanted to meet the chief.

I admired her one-piece suit. It was quirky, in blue and white. She explained it was a two-piece, and lifted the top and showed me her tummy. Her name is Celia Wade-Brown and she gave me her business card, which was promptly stolen by a breeze.

Capital reports

Anna, keep these Capital reports coming. Courtenay Place was the Courtenay Quartier, which was pleasingly Left Banke.