A Connected Isolation

Antipodal Posting – A Connected Isolation

“Worlds away” is the sort of feeling that I have when I reflect upon how our life has been over during the last four years. Having moved from Calgary to Australia and now to New Zealand has been different enough. But it’s more than just geography. Our jobs have changed our experiences, our career paths and our perceptions. The proximity to the familiar has become replaced with becoming familiar.

It is easy to feel disconnected from Calgary and Canada, especially in a remote New Zealand province because of the loss of proximity but also the decay of what was once relevant. A seemingly trivial example of how things change involves pizza with friends.

Recently, we went to a friend's for wine and pizza; hardly earth shattering. However, she and her boys have been dear friends for years and our routine used to consist of hosting her most Friday nights for wine when we lived in Calgary. In our previous life it was great; a convenient and a lovely way to end the week. Even then it required some organization as we were all busy, but she lived within a kilometer so the wine needed to be in the fridge the night before, or at least a bucket of ice. So not really that much of an organization burden.

Fast forward to October 2013 and she's now living in London. The organization required is now significantly more than before. More organization and also flights were required this time. In fact, 37 hours of flights, travelling through Auckland, Sydney and Dubai before finally coming to some form of catatonic rest in London.

The best thing is that the wine and the pizza were still great, owing significantly to the strength of the friendship (and the indefatigable powers of pizza) as well as the knowledge that we were settling in for the weekend and then starting to travel on with them.  

So there we were, Saturday morning in London, trying to recover from our travel. Our bodies still being  tugged by the New Zealand’s singular time zone (they only have one, can you believe it?), waiting for the sun to rise and e-mailing friends in Canada catching up or trying to understand what the Shale Gas protest in NB was all about.

I feel decidedly disconnected from the local scene and even Canadian politics in general. I know that Harper suspended parliament again, but not sure if it's been restored or even the underlying issue.  We experience a certain lag in the news itself, but also the amount of effort required to chase down details that don't pertain to our daily routine seems incommensurate.

For us it seems odd that connections seem difficult to maintain, notwithstanding the plethora of communication platforms that are (more or less) reliable at a (more or less) nominal cost. However, the travel and relocating that we have done, has shown us that while we lose the daily connections with our friends and family, the ties we do have can still be strong.

The disconnection and isolation extends to other news of the day. We have also been surprised with how certain news, such as the floods in Calgary, travels quickly to us, through established networks of friends and colleagues, whereas the news of the fires in Australia moved comparatively slowly while we were in Europe. These types of discoveries have also changed our perspective of the world and our place within it. 

This was perhaps most noticeable when our trip also passed through Greece and then later Paris.

View of Lakka Harbour

Greece was something of a found opportunity as one of Nicole’s consultants offered up the use of his villa for a week. Plans that hadn’t included the small Greek island were soon diverted to a week to a place that had more feral cats than people. Greece was also where I reminded myself about the dangers of stereotypes.

We found ourselves on the funny little remote island of Paxos; an island in the Ionian Sea, that boasts olive tree covered mountains, beautiful inlets and small friendly villages.

One morning I was out for a run to counteract the feta cheese, olives and breads we've been eating in copious quantities and I turned down this little fenced path, only to be greeted from call of "good morning" from above. I look up to see a small Greek man calling down and waving at me.

"Good morning, is this ok for me?" I replied, making sure I wasn't trespassing.

"Yes, yes. Good morning.  Where are you from?" came the reply

What's the worst that could happen?

"Well, Canada, but I live in New Zealand now."

A puzzled expression, a pause and then, "Will you come up for coffee?"

Right, out for a run and now some random stranger has invited me for coffee? It seemed a little odd, but fortunately I know how warm Greek hospitality can be. I also know that the Greeks love their coffee and I personally know at least two Greeks that I know make pretty fine coffee. So I concluded that naturally, all Greeks must make great coffee, or at least have a penchant for it. So, my curiosity, sense of decency and Canadian politeness all combined for a perfect storm of decorum.  What else could I say, but "thank you". (Also the villa lacked coffee making tech.)

Inside I went to meet Spirosay, my local host for a cup of his finest blend; shaking hands, removing shoes and offering thanks.

After our mutual introductions, my gracious host, asks "how many sugar you would like?”

"Only one please Spirosay." Again aiming to be polite – one is part of sharing, and trying to have sweetened coffee like your host, but not too much sugar, since I don't take sugar in my coffee at all.

It was as Spiros was obliging that the realisation hit me that I was in trouble. "How many scoops of coffee?"

"Pardon me Spiros?"

"Coffee. How many scoops you would like? Scoop of coffee." He repeated holding up a container of Nescafe instant frappechino mix.

"Fu<k me, none, you creepy degenerate." Didn't quite seem like the right answer, so I winced and meekly said, "One would be very generous thank you."

While listening to some type of Greek disco revival music, Spiros finished with a flourish and whipped the coffeesque drink and served it in a HI ball glass at room temperature. Glancing at the door I swore that I could see my skin crawling out the door.

During the course of our faux coffee, we had an interesting conversation about his time on Paxos, the death of his 93 year old father, the fact that he's 45, his mother, how commercial fishing boats have over-fished the local waters, the seasonal ebb and flow of prospects in his village of Lakka, employment prospects in New Zealand and Australia, how white my skin was, the price of our airline tickets from NZ to Greece and if all of my siblings and I shared the same father.

Naturally I started becoming increasingly uncomfortable; thinking of the Liam Neeson movies with rogue Albanians causing all sorts of mayhem. Paxos is very near Albania and anywhere in Greece is really the last place anyone would look for Albanians, good bad or indifferent.

The view is always better with ouzo

My stereotypes of Greek’s being coffee lovers shattered, I returned to my run and reflected upon the various experience that only come through travel. Lovely hospitality, interesting insights but it took about an hour of swimming in the sea to get the taste of Spiro's special blend fake coffee concoction out of my mouth. Finally a reason why they drink ouzo, but it was soon a distant memory as we turned our attention to Paris. 

Anyone who says "there's no place like home" either has never been to Paris, or lives there. This has become increasingly problematic for me, as I’ve come to the conclusion that “home is where Nicole and Spencer are”. So when were in Oz that was home. When we moved to NZ that became home. Now, the question begs “why not Paris?” I’m not joking. Not even a little.

Paris - worth supporting

If anyone knows of any super lucrative positions for management level engineers or intermediate common law lawyers in Paris (preferably arrondissements 1-8, maybe 11 as well), please, please let Nicole or I know immediately. Again, I’m not joking. Seriously, not joking.

Spencer has become a pro at flying.  She loves it, got a little sick on the first two flights but was aces the rest of the time.  In particular Spencer love Emirates Airline because they offer a whole suite of kid friendly things, wrapped in a carry bag. Already at 5 she is fond of shoes and bags; her mother’s daughter.

She turned 5 in Sept. and then proceeded to loss her first tooth in Greece (worth 5 Euro from the Tooth Fairy) and then lost another in Paris, (another 5 Euro – both prices seem beyond the Tooth Fairy’s schedule of rates, but 5 Euro is the smallest paper denomination available, so the argument goes).

Super impressive Spencer facts from the trip:

• Spencer can explain subject perspective in paintings, after her visit to the 
• She can also explain why the Mona Lisa looks to be moving her eyes; 
• When we got back to NP, she announced "Look, the moon has changed direction".

She was right. It's a waxing crescent presently and while in Dubai, we were on the concave side, but we're now on the convex.  That was about an hour after getting home she pulled that one out. It’s amazing how the travel we’ve done has contributed to her ability to observe, relate and make connections.

My 2nd fan

In other news we’re looking forward to our third set of house guests this year (equalling the total for our time in Oz), marking the one year mark of life in New Plymouth and our first Christmas here. On the topic of Christmas, as a courtesy I thought I would share with you the leading gift idea for the season, the gift of reading.

As of late November, my first published novel will be available for purchase (either on Kindle or traditional printed formats). This will afford you the opportunity to purchase as many copies as you’d like for both yourself as well as for any gifts you might want! 

Watch this space for the official announcement.

We hope that you are all well.

d

Antipodal Update - the iDiocy of Moving around the World

Antipodal Update - the iDiocy of Moving around the World

After the rain

First up, our best thoughts and wishes have been with all our Calgary and Toronto friends and family who have been affected by the flooding.  Having been exposed to serious flooding in Brisbane, we know how disruptive it and stressful it can be.  We hope that you're now all safe and back on the road to normalcy.  While the temptation was present to provide some levity through a blistering hilarious update I knew that this was likely beyond my talent.  But attempting to preserve some degree of decorum, I resisted even providing until the course of the disaster was stayed.  All the same, we’ve been thinking about you all and hope that you’re as well as to be expected.

Ok, so now for an update as to how we're getting on in New Zealand, because you’re really interested in what I’ve got to say, or at least pretend to be.  And, after all this is what these updates are supposed to be about. 

Six months into our new adventure we are looking around, pleased, surprised, shocked, tired and thrilled about what we’ve found. 

New Zealand is great.  Described as “Nature on drugs” or “A kinder, gentler Canada”, both are apt.  The air is clean and crisp, because it lacks both the warmth and humidity we so loved in Brisbane, but not as cold or dry as we knew in Canada.  Change is good, but so were the other places we’ve lived.  It is nice to sea the seasons again and have to wear sweaters and socks during winter.  

Empty spots because people are engaged
in bloodsport on the roads (but the surf
breaks are full).

The people are friendly, generally.  Generally Kiwis are very friendly and the New Plymouthonians (let’s pretend that’s really a word and is actually what people from New Plymouth are really called) are particularly friendly.  Well unless they're driving.  Or unless they're playing rugby.  And certainly not when they're driving to go play rugby, which really covers most of the time that Kiwis are awake. So, maybe classifying them as friendly isn’t completely accurate. 

Let me explain, I suppose that the rugby bit is self explanatory, but driving is a gong show.  Generally there are two types of drivers in New Zealand, three if you count courteous and competent foreigners (but nobody does).  The first is the distracted ambivalent equivalent of a dairy cow with motor vehicle operator's permit.  These are the people that change lanes without regard; pull up tight to crosswalks preventing people (with an unusually high frequency, me) from entering the roadway from perpendicular intersecting roads.  Bearing witness to these drivers is like watching the Damned milling around Hell without any sense of direction or belonging.  Hilarious if you're not trying to negotiate you’re way across their paths, because they’re as indifferent as a house cat and nearly as aware of others.

Unfortunately, the other type of Kiwi driver is more attentive, but attentive in a terrifying life threatening way.  Imagery?  Sure, imagine Crispin Glover, but lacking judgment plus Lance Armstrong’s sense of entitlement both channeling John McEnroe’s anger management skills, devolving into road rage.  Now project that image onto at least 40% of the people on the roads.  These are the people that zealously defend the road as though it held their last promise of salvation.  When Spencer drops a toy while we're crossing the street, we hear acceleration.  Turn across traffic with less than half a block clear of traffic you'll be rewarded with a screaming horn and a stream of profanity.  All from someone with a mullet in a Ute (see reference), ciggy wedged between their fingers, with coffee in hand and a 2 or 3 year old child hanging out the front passenger window.  Quickly I get the sense that maybe these aren’t my people. 

All of this to say, if you happen to meet someone who's driving reasonably while in NZ, go introduce yourself and ask them where they're from.  But make sure to ask them near their car, because all these people, from the Road Raging Dirtbag to the Glacier who’s Driving Miss Daisy, become the world’s nicest people as soon as their feet touch the ground.  Friendly in the shops and stores.  Polite and engaging in the parks and cafes.  I thought that Canadians were nice and polite.  Kiwis make Canadians look like, well like... let's say it makes us look like the generalization of the people from a Treaty NAFTA country, that's not Mexico.  Or Canada.  Not naming names.   But still New Zealand manages to be great. 

As great at New Zealand is, it's also really odd.  Worse than odd, it's really isolated and really in need of certain interventions. 

Exquisite fans, especially for a bid

Odd that they have a bird called a Pukeko (say - poo - key - ko).  Sure, almost all of the birds here have peculiar, or local names, even the "old school Canadian landmark plain old duck" is called a Whio.  Its nice that the ducks are at least familiar in appearance, if not by name, because they’re everywhere.  Maybe that’s how they were named, “yeah mate, I don’t know what to call dees t’ings bro, but da’y be comin’ out me whio, right bro’?”  Makes some sense, Whio’s coming out the whio.  It seems to go like this a fair bit.  Black birds are Tui, small Chickeeds are Fantails (all though the do have magnificent fans for tails unlike Sparrows and in Maori mythology the piwakawaka is a messenger, bringing death or news of death from the gods to the people, like the Raven in European legend).  What ever happened to reasonable names for birds like Whiskeyjacks, Ptarmigans and Willow Tit?  All renamed to something odd.

Part chickeed, part colour challenged peacock; all NZ Fantail

The exception is the migratory bird that resembles the  "old school Canadian landmark plain Canada Goose", which go by the local name "Canada Goose", which let’s be honest, even with a Kiwi accent, it still sounds sort of familiar bro’, like fish’n’chips with freshly caught tarakihi. 

But it’s the pukeko that is genuinely odd.  They look like a blue chicken and flies like a bowling ball bag with wings.  But as odd as it is how they fly, the fact that they fly at all is impressive, as many of the indigenous birds don't.  Why don't local birds fly?  Well evolution of course.  You know the same reason that alligators, crocodiles and sharks have been largely unchanged for thousands of years, because they have completed their evolution to a pinnacle of efficiency.  So too have many of the indigenous birds achieved a state of evolutionary grace, just not the same state as the apex predators. 

Pukeko: means flying bowling ball in Maori

Rather, these birds have evolved out of flying in response to a lack of predators.  I would say that rather than evolution, they had gotten lazy.  All this says to me is, "meh, it's sort of nice enough here, I've got no reason to leave this island."  And fair enough I suppose, New Zealand is a great place, so there are lots of reasons to stay.  For instance, there are no “real” ground predators like snakes, spiders, foxes, dingos, wolves etc.  All of which the biosecurity folks at all the ports of New Zealand are particularly vigilant of, lest that the highly evolved wildlife that can’t defend themselves or properly flee from threat if such were present. 

And while there are no predators for the cute and cuddly wildlife, such as the Kiwi, the notoriously elusive and nocturnal National bird (a bird that New Zealand residents have about as much of a chance of seeing in the wild during their lives than an American would in meeting Edward Snowdon or an Australian would have in watching the Wallabies win the World Cup, this also results in widespread rodents.  Rodents like possums and rats.  Rats the size of large cats, like the pair that Spencer and I saw climbing off the beach.  Rats that Spencer thought were “so cute” and left me with that skin crawling sensation wishing that we could just “borrow” 3 or 4 thousand snakes from Australia, just until winter when they would die, but after decimating the rodents of this fair land.  But no snakes here, is simply one of the reasons one would never want to leave the Land of the Long White Cloud. 

Although there are also reasons to leave, admittedly not all that many. 

One reason to leave New Zealand, or to engage in a rampant kidnapping campaign of Hebrew trained bagel makers, is that bagels are egregiously lacking here.  In fact one of the best bagels I've had since we left Melbourne was simply a Kaiser Bun with a hole in it.  Trust me when I say that it was worse than remaining hungry.  Much worse.  But maybe this is something that I can live with, especially with the absence of snakes and particularly the venomous snakes of Australia. 

  

How are we doing, like on the day-to-day stuff?  We're getting there.  The isolation and small population has it's challenges, like limited access to consumer goods like wine, fresh bread, affordable petroleum, clothing and most importantly salsa that we’ve grown to love, but some benefits such as knowing the people that you run into at the shops or that who have just taken instructions from one of their relatives to remove them from a Will, but I digress. 

One of many sunsets that may render us
blind before we leave here.

There is also the culture of not being worried about severe winter conditions but instead earthquakes.  And earthquakes are really a thing here, and not just cheap Hollywood action flicks type stuff, or “the big one” that happens every 1000 years, like flooding in Calgary.  In fact, we’ve had three today.  Three measuring between 4 and 6ish on the Richter Scale.  Isolated incidents?  Maybe not, historical numbers show that in 2011 there were more than roughly two earthquakes per day, but they only really “count” if they measure 4 of more on the Richter Scale.  I suppose it’s comforting that it rains here more often than that.  Surprisingly, we’ve yet to feel any of the earthquakes since we’ve been here. 

Having just past the six-month mark, we've found some other surprises as well as some comfort that we had anticipated a number of issues before departing from Brisbane.  While not always the case, we have managed to learn from our first move and really started a series lists and checklists.  Mini processes that are the domain of lawyers and engineers.  You know the things that keep us organized but painful to have as friends. 

Date sensitive lists and milestones that were largely left for me to manage, closing out utilities and extending our postal service redirection services.  Arranging for insurance to expire and recommence.  Certified copies of documents to be made while we still had access to people who knew us.

The period of time prior to moving was tedious and filled with attending to contingent details that were usually conditions precedent for others.  But now, a short six months into our new adventure it has paid massive dividends.  Our tax filing back in Australia has been relatively painless, because most of the documents that we needed were within easy access. 

Spencer is now in school, both Nicole and I are working and we've hired an au pair to assist with Spencer and the gaps between my workday and her school schedule.  The wine situation is generally sorted out, we've found good microbreweries.  We were in attendance when the All Blacks played an International Rugby match here, against France (and won).  We've done some local travel, climbed the local mountain and the local rock (with Spencer). 

We have managed to transfer my professional qualifications from Alberta, to Australia, to New Zealand, where I have been registered on an original Roll of Barristers and Solicitors dating to 1861, the oldest such Roll in the country.  I'm having a pretty good run, admitted in three jurisdictions without being struck off in any of them...keep holding your breath.   

We've managed to get our banking and insurance sorted out and transferred across "the Ditch" (vernacular for Trans Tasman Sea matters).  Some things were more trouble than others like financing arrangements and the release of our Superannuation Funds (State required retirement savings) and others were relatively simple like having our cash transferred.  Strangely some of the new portable life that we've taken on has been iMpossible to more.

One such aspect, iRonically has been iTunes.  iN fact iTunes has become iDiotic to such an extent that we have yet to close our bank accounts and credit cards in Australia.  Why?  Because iTunes won't let us change countries.  We can move our professional designations, our Wills, our savings, personal property.  We can obtain new passports and be issued work visas, but not a new country code for iTunes. 

As unlikely as it may seem, i'Ve contact the iTunes people directly to resolve this and received the following response.  Twice. 

Before you change the country, please note:

  

1) If you have store credit, you must use the credit before you can change countries.

2) You will need to download all purchased content. In addition, rented items must be past their 30-day expiration. For more information on rentals, please see:

http://support.apple.com/kb/HT1657

3) You must provide a payment method, such as a credit or debit card associated with a valid billing address in the new country. An iTunes Store Gift Card issued in the new country is also an acceptable payment method.

4) After you change countries, you will no longer receive application update notifications in iTunes for the apps you purchased in your original country. However, you'll still receive update notifications on your iOS device for any applications installed on it.

5) If you have an iTunes Match subscription, you can't change countries until the subscription has expired.

6) If you have purchased a Season Pass, you cannot change the country associated with your account until that season is done airing and the last episode of the season has been added to the iTunes Store.

7) If you have been using iTunes in the Cloud to download past purchases from your Purchased page, these purchases will no longer appear when you change the country.

To change the country for your account, follow these steps:

1) First, make sure you're using the latest version of iTunes. It's available free of charge:

http://www.itunes.com/download

2) Next, click the following link to open iTunes and access the Apple Account Information page:

https://buy.itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZFinance.woa/wa/accountSummary

3) Enter your iTunes Store account name and password, then click Account Info.

4) On the Apple Account Information page, click Change Country or Region.

5) Enter the updated information and save your changes.

Please reply to this email if you are unable to change the country for your account, and I will assist you further.

iRonically, i Understood this to have been the case, and the requested the cancellation of the subscription that was preventing what would otherwise be the agile international mobility we've come to enjoy, so that I could provide new address and credit card information.  The response was predictable:

 Before you change the country, please note:

1) If you have store credit, you must use the credit before you can change countries.

2) You will need to download all purchased content. In addition, rented items must be past their 30-day expiration. For more information on rentals, please see:

http://support.apple.com/kb/HT1657

3) You must provide a payment method, such as a credit or debit card associated with a valid billing address in the new country. An iTunes Store Gift Card issued in the new country is also an acceptable payment method.

4) After you change countries, you will no longer receive application update notifications in iTunes for the apps you purchased in your original country. However, you'll still receive update notifications on your iOS device for any applications installed on it.

5) If you have an iTunes Match subscription, you can't change countries until the subscription has expired.

6) If you have purchased a Season Pass, you cannot change the country associated with your account until that season is done airing and the last episode of the season has been added to the iTunes Store.

7) If you have been using iTunes in the Cloud to download past purchases from your Purchased page, these purchases will no longer appear when you change the country.

To change the country for your account, follow these steps:

1) First, make sure you're using the latest version of iTunes. It's available free of charge:

http://www.itunes.com/download

2) Next, click the following link to open iTunes and access the Apple Account Information page:

https://buy.itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZFinance.woa/wa/accountSummary

3) Enter your iTunes Store account name and password, then click Account Info.

4) On the Apple Account Information page, click Change Country or Region.

5) Enter the updated information and save your changes.

Please reply to this email if you are unable to change the country for your account, and I will assist you further.

Ultimately the answer from iTunes was that I am not entitled to cancel a subscription that I've paid for in advance and no longer wish to use.  This also means that I can't download regional content such as the banking app or Angry Birds because there is now a conflict between the national network that my phone is on (New Zealand) and the country that my iTunes account has been held hostage in (Australia).  Maybe this is the inhumane part of Gitmo; political prisoners can't play Angry Birds on their smart devices.  Talk about a lack of access to justice. 

  

Fortunately, iUnderstand that this exchange has led to a new Apple renewable energy initivitive, whereby they attach wires to the grave site of Steven Jobs, and then play a recording of the customer service that I received.  I think that the preliminary name is going to be iSpin. 

iRonically, we remember every time we rent a movie or my Angry Birds app won't load that we still have a connection back in Oz.  Fortunately, we also remember that our connections in Canada, America, Oz and wherever else our friends are presently living extend past the iDiocy of Apple, past commerce and Angry Birds and rest with great memories, experiences and people we have come to know and love.  But really?  International mobility is now checked only by Apple and iTunes?  iDiocy. 

At least I've now seen a Super Moon. 

 

Super Moon - the result of the alignment of the Sun, Earth and Moon;
the Moon is physically closer to Earth, enabling this photo with
my iPhone, but it is an iPhone 5

Epic

Rather than doing the iPhone Crazy thing again, or rather than just doing the iPhone crazy type entry again, which I will do, here is an instalment of the massive wave that came in today.

All photos are taken with a good camera, but in sunset conditions.

There is certainly enough crazy around, but this was the good kind.  I hope you enjoy.

It may also serve to satisfy some of you who've been after some photos....

The wind was fresh, but by comparison the water was warm.  Oh yeah, and this was all about 300m from our house.

Removalist Day, Mk II

Removalist Day, Mk II

Unpacking.  Yes, we had experienced this all before.  Really everyone who’s older than 5, who has been away on a holiday or off to school, or moved house has.  But of course, this is about me, so it’s different and complicated. 

So yes, we’ve packed and unpacked before.  More than once in fact, but how hard could it be?  After all we learned our lessons from the first removalist day.  This had to be different this time; we had appliances that were designed for the same electrical system, so we should really be able anticipate everything that would happen.  I mean really, that’s what engineers and lawyers are designed to do.  So I just say back and anticipated all the glorious happiness that a full house would bring.  Life should be like that, but it’s not.

Life for me is like being a goldfish in a bowl.  I look forward to the little (and sometimes big) events with new wonder and anticipation.  Again, some with more wonder and excitement than others.  Why?  Well, I’ve found that having a short attention span and short memory is more rewarding than being introspective, especially because it seems that I can either be one or the other but not both.  A particular example is when we were waiting for the contents of our home to be delivered in New Plymouth. 

It wasn’t just about the contents of our home arriving that set us upon a heightened level of anticipation, it was also the prospect of moving to a quiet house at the end of the cul-de-sac.  Especially since the cul-de-sac opened onto a park over looking the Tasman Sea.  Also especially since the park was also less than 300m (1000 feet) from the beach.  The picture of an idyllic existence. 

This fantasy made even more desirable given that while our temporary accommodation boasted a stunning view, but it was also like being on a campout with Chris Dorner, without the blazing fire of course, but still while he was playing “hide and seek” with LAPD.  I say this because while we over look the foreshore, we are also along a main road, so every time a heavy logging truck, fuel truck, gravel truck, container truck or delivery van goes by, either breaking for the light, or accelerating for the incline, it was like having LAPD outside throwing concussion grenades through our windows.  The fact is, that I was ready to burn this place down myself.  So the prospect of a new place, quiet street, beach access and our stuff will be a welcome sight.

The introspective part of me quickly became embarrassed for being shallow and materialistic.  Being so preoccupied by material possessions, that I was fixated upon their arrival, I felt as though I was lacking perspective.  So, I decided that not only would I retire from introspection, but that I would also discard my latent attachment to our property that was floating somewhere in the Tasman Sea.  The result was I started looking forward to our delivery date as though it was Christmas and Santa was the Captain of our ocean liner.  Suddenly I had a renewed sense of anticipation and happiness as I gleefully careened around my little glass bowl.

But ships don’t come in every day, and it’s not like you can simply look on a calendar for Christmas Eve so that you can set out a bottle of rum and gift certificates for Sea Captain Santa.  But all was not lost. 

Fortunately though we now live in the information age where you can check to see if your ship is due to come in.  Seriously.  Both the daily newspaper and the port authority post anticipated ship movements, so you can literally see if your ship is due to arrive. 

Ok, then how do you know which of the bunch of boats is yours?  After all, I’m just a Canadian from the mountains of Alberta, where “big boats” are those that you can’t do an Eskimo Roll in.  Well, funny as it turns out, our moving company (“removalists” in Antipodal parlance) issues this information when they provide you with the advice on the status of your shipment.  How exciting!  I am now splashing water out of my little bowl I’m turning and racing around so. 

First a word about our movers.  OSS Overseas.  Aaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggg!  Right, as in not the best experience we’ve had.  What was so bad?  Well let’s say if I was ready to burn our accommodation down, if OSS was the only option for our next move, I’ll burn our stuff as well.  I honestly don’t think that I’d trust them, or pay them, to post a blank post card.  In short they have proven to be inept, lacking processes and more interested in moving money from us to them, the rest isn’t much of a bother.  A poor selection on my part is probably the most judicious thing that I could say.  Again, why I’ve retreated from my introspective self.

But at the end of the day, they (OSS whose name I try not to speak, along with their equally incompetent local agents) furnish us details advising that our possessions are safely conveyed onto the NYK GALAXY, a container vessel under a German flag.  How auspicious!  Germans are efficient, the freight is just shipping containers and the boat seems to move relatively fast.  Even better, we live in the information age, so I can track NYK GALAXY, look at photos of her / it / whatever we are allowed to call boats now, and see where it’s various destinations are.  Excitedly, I watched the little blue line grow, leaving Brisbane as a small dot in it’s rearview mirror (I’m pretty sure ships that size must have such mirrors) and steaming triumphantly to Auckland!  Auckland?  Wait, I was told New Plymouth.  Ok, maybe Auckland was a first stop.  But then, again according to the infallible Internet, it was Christchurch.  Then back up to Napier.  Then Tauranga and Auckland again.  Then Hong Kong.  Then…two realizations that I had always knew were coming, the first one my teachers used to tell me all the time.  A) My ship wasn’t coming in and B) My removalists were incompetent.  Utterly, fu-_ing hate crime inspiringly incompetent.

I started thinking that my old introspective self would have examined and re-examined why, why these things tend to happen to me.  Why…but then by the time I crossed the span of my bowl I checked the website again and thought that maybe after Hong Kong, Tokyo, Beijing and then Melbourne Christmas would come to our shores. 

So I called our friendly removalists to inquire, playing dumb, as I’m particularly skilled at, according to the same teachers to taught me not to expect ships, “hey, just confirming that our container landed and we’re still good to go for delivery.”  The answer was a very uncomforting “…I will confirm when I can.”

WHAT.

THE.

MOTHER.

<removed by spam filter>.

How could this really be the case?  I mean consider that the facts are as follows:

• Container vessels are massive boats;
• Boats operate on the sea, which is a generally flat surface without visual obstructions, like buildings, trees, mountains, etc, although it is affected by the curvature of the earth, sure;
• You can see from shore to the horizon, weather and curvature of the earth permitting;
• The horizon is a long way from the shore, incidentally the horizon represents the point where curvature overtakes visual abilities;
• Even if you can’t see the horizon, there are satellites, radar, and communication devices that assist people in locating ships and managing logistics.  Incidentally these techniques overcome curvature issues;
• Once in the port, you can see if the boat has docked and been unloaded or not.

Even if you can’t see the boat in port, you can radio, e-mail, telephone the port authority, or ask any one of the longshoremen in the local pub to find out the status of a particular boat.

The fact was that this wasn’t like this a tin fishing boat with a handful of school aged Aussies (schoolies) that were pulling up on a sandbar at low tide to polish off a couple VBs.  Someone, somewhere should know if the boat came in, if our container was with it and if it had been off-loaded, especially since it was their job.  The whole thing reminded me of a problem in physics.

Q.  If a boat is spotted on the horizon, steaming to port at 17knots, considering that the tides and winds do not factor in the boats progress, how long will it take to reach port?

A.  Seems like it would be a while, probably a long while, I’d call the port authority and inquire, and then charge my client 0.4h for “phone attendance with Port Authority to confirm anticipated delivery of personal possessions.  Add note to ask client if they would like an opinion on emissions off-sets for steam generated propulsion”.

I failed physics, getting 1/7 for answers like this.  Ironically, I received the same 1/7 mark in law school for this same answer to the same question.  Unlike my physics instructor who simply gave up on me, my law professor added the following comments:

Any thing worth billing for is worth billing for.  Add 0.1 for “attending to e-mail advising client of response by Port Authority”, and 0.1 for “diarize same for follow-up in 14 days.” Billing total should be 0.5h + disbursements and taxes.

The law always made more sense to me than physics.  So much more practical and helpful. 

The joke was actually on Nicole and I.  As it turned out the schoolies that were supposed to load our container hadn’t been seen since low tide when they loaded up a tinney with their eskies (“cooler” in Canada and “chilly bin” in NZ).

Like all things do eventually, Christmas did come, magically, just like you would expect from Seafaring Santa.  After all, New Plymouth boasts very legal and very public bordellos, so it’s really just a matter of time before ships make port here, but on the day vaguely promised by our removalist, and their agent, a seacan arrived at our new place and started the end game of goldfish Christmas.

But then the real trouble began with the phone call from the local removalist agent.  “Yeah, hey mate, we’ve got an order to drop by for you.  We’ll probably be by say mid afternoon.  Does that work for you?”

Although my heart leapt, I coolly checked myself, “absolutely, does mid afternoon give you enough time to finish up, or are you coming back the following day?”

“Ah, no worries, this is just a 20 footer, we can have it dropped off in about an hour.”

“Fair enough,” I said with more than a little skepticism, “but I paid for an unload, unpack, set up and removal of all packing materials.  So that’s what’s on, right?”

There was a clattering in the background of shoes and pennies dropping, “ah, well, er, I hadn’t been given that information and we’re booked pretty solid.”

Right, I haven’t seen this one before.  You know when the mover has all your stuff on the truck, but the estimate “his office” gave you was a little light and is “just a few hundred more”. 

“No problem.  This is really easy,” I said, “I’ll get OSS to confirm this and if you don’t have capacity to do this work, I’ll hire a local crew and bill it back to them.  Good.”

As it turns out we got a crew that had the time to drop our stuff by.  Drop perhaps the key word.  The main guy leading the crew had a local Maori name, a language that I confess I struggle with.  So I had to come up with a name that I could pronounce and remember. 

So I called him Enola.  As in Enola Gay, the bomber that had the dubious honour of deploying the first atomic weapon but forcing the Japanese surrender in WWII.  Enola Gay seemed like a good name because every box this clown dropped ended up being nuked. 

The whole thing reminded me of high school, I stood there in front of people who thought something was funny that was making me insane.  Something would fall, “it’s ok mate, it’s just a little shaky shake.  It’ll be right.  What’s the difference?”

My commentary or efforts to implore a better result were all futile.  So I turned my energies back to the internal conflict between being shallow and introspective.  Strangely in the firestorm of inside jokes and damaged furniture a solution was born.  I decided to split my personalities and compartmentalize my worlds.  I was going to focus on setting up our home, getting settled and enjoying our little world in the corner of New Zealand.  That was compartment one.  In the next box was compartment two, in which I was going to spend the time required to claim against our insurance for the ruined book shelves, sofa, glassware, washing machine full of mould, etc. and then rain fire and acid upon our removalist using all the consumer protection legislation that Queensland is replete with.  I was going to enjoy both sides of this coin.  In fact I know this because in a symbol at being the bigger person, I bought the crew a round of cokes. 

When the first coke exploded in a shower of sticky syrup and a chorus of profanity, covering a couple of the unexpected removalists, I said, “it’s ok mate, it’s just a little shaky shake.  It’ll be right.  Was there a difference?”  I still covet the smile I held back. 

At the end of all of this we got our possessions back, unpacked and organized into our new home.  The wine all made it across and that dulled the pain of the rest.  Life isn’t as idyllic as we’d like, but you didn’t have to read to the bottom of this update to know that.  Life never is.

After taking inventory, both personally and actually, I realized that I’m wealthy in experience and am fortunate enough to be enriched by my wife and daughter, our friends and family, the travel that we’ve undertaken for work and recreation.  I’ve got so many good things, easy access to a beach, mind-blowing views of the sea and the local mountain, a quiet home and friends that are happy to read the first three or four paragraphs of these updates.

But that’s not all.  I’ve also got an active insurance claim, pending consumer protection complaints on the basis of insurance provided, disclosure of same, and misleading representations in soliciting a contract for service and over charging: in short a vendetta with removalists involving at least three government agencies. 

I think life in New Plymouth will suit a series of compartments.  Probably everywhere would. 

We hope you’re well.