Archive for October, 2005

Learning curves

Thursday, October 27th, 2005
Standing at the dining room window, watching our two middle kids walk away from the house and off to school, it stuck me how adaptable and trusting all four offspring have been. Whilst one might reasonably expect a child to trust their parents, I am still impressed by how readily ours accepted and absorbed the fact that we were moving to the other side of the world. There were concerns about missing friends and family and the odd moment of ‘I’m not going’-ness but, all things considered, they took to the idea very quickly and with hardly a moment’s hesitation. Last week, the three eldest started at their respective schools and the youngest spent her first few days at the local kindergarten. Enrolling the kids in the schools and kindergarten here could not have been easier, with Kiwi pragmatism and ‘can do’ attitude sweeping away all our worries about visas, eligibility and paperwork. At each, we went along for an informal chat with the principle, discussed our situation and the perceived needs of the relevant child, passed across copies of previous reports and achievements and toured the schools. That was it. No drama, as they say here, no hassles, no bureaucracy, just common sense and a clear ‘Put the child first’ attitude.
Each is set out on a broad open campus, typical of many schools here, with expansive playing fields and sports facilities, sun-shaded outdoor picnic tables and benches for lunches and breaks surrounding single-storey classrooms filled with artwork and inspirational posters. The Kiwis place great emphasis on character development and good citizenry and it is common to find schools promoting ‘virtues of the month’, such as ‘approaching each day with a smile’ and helping maintain the cleanliness and fabric of the school’. From what we can glean, the younger two are perhaps having the easier time of settling in, whilst the older two are finding the delicate process of making new friends is taking a little longer. Early teenage years are never easy but, although we have no concerns at this time, it is still difficult to witness these quiet struggles without feeling a twinge of guilt and a modicum of helplessness.
For all those quiet parental concerns, the last week has seen several new friends coming over to visit after school and yesterday we hosted a birthday party for nine pre-teen girls, not including our own. This event was a risky venture for, over and above all the usual risks of children’s birthday parties, we had unknowingly invited one or two who have been marginalised for various reasons. A number of mums mentioned this in passing but we chose to plough the UN peacekeeping furrow and carry on regardless. As firm believers in blank sheets, clean slates and speaking as we find, we felt that this was the only fair thing to do. After all, we have pitched up as outsiders in this small community and have been welcomed with warm smiles and kind gestures. As things turned out, a good time was had by all and, just maybe, a few fences were mended. The birthday girl had a marvellous time, not least because, for the very first time her birthday party was on a beautiful spring afternoon rather than a grey autumn one. In place of the previous cramped living rooms and fast food restaurants, she and her friends had the run of the beach sloping down to the rolling Tasman Sea, all framed by one hundred and eighty degrees of sky blue horizon. I hope that the day will remain with her as fond and cherished memory.
Elsewhere, the hunt for the job we need to secure our future goes on. The twice weekly ritual of scanning the papers and calling the recruiters that I have settled to has started paying dividends. As things stand, I have been shortlisted for two roles, one heading up the contact centre for a public utility who are on a mission to modernise their customer service department and the other as an operations manager of another centre in the capital. I applied for the former through a small firm of head-hunters who interviewed me and have ‘pitched’ me to their client in turn. From what I can ascertain, the centre is set in it’s ways, the management jaded and it will take years to get anything changed. The latter role is better though, to date, having been through CV selection, an interview with a panel of senior managers, two sets of psychometric tests and another interview with a management psychologist used to check candidates’ suitability, so I’m wondering what the heck it is all leading to. It would seem, from conversations with those in the know, the Kiwis are apparently very big on all this testing and it is widely used, so I had better get used to it.
I have also had some very interesting exploratory interviews with a large nationwide organisation and it’s new subsidiary. From these initial meetings and a tour of their operation, I have hopes that something will develop so, having suddenly got superstitious, I’ll say no more for now. Finally, we have seen a senior immigration officer this week and he was helpful in resolving some of our concerns and advising on turning a formal job offer and the requisite paperwork into a work permit. Once we have the permit and I am working, we can start the formal application for longer term residency. All in all, we’re gradually settling into our various routines, balancing the starting of new friendships with maintaining the old, comparing new possibilities to the well-known, while all the while pinching ourselves.




Interlude

Thursday, October 27th, 2005

A little earlier this week, whilst writing and listening to music, I had a quite unexpected moment. Looking up from the screen, my attention was drawn by the sunset and, walking to the window, I looked out on the most incredible rays of burnished golds and pinks, blazing through a Venetian blind of streaked clouds above dark blue and copper waves. As I listened to the beautiful ‘Benedictus’ from Karl Jenkins’ The Armed Man: A Mass For Peace and gazed at this fleeting treasure, I felt a small, warm hand reach for mine and looked down at my youngest. I scooped her onto my hip and we stood there together without a word and watched the sun slip from our sky, perhaps I’d like to think to rise over another father and his daughter beyond the ocean.




Must try harder

Wednesday, October 19th, 2005

Today, I have tanked, ploughed, crashed and burned. As the weeks pass and the interview count increases, it was only a matter of time before I turned in an interview performance that was less than sparkling and today was that day. This morning, after an solid hour of wide ranging questions from a formal interview panel of three, I was asked to simply name the case management software deployed in my last operation. Almost before the question was even completed, I realised I’d blanked and what’s more, as I looked from one patiently waiting face to another, I knew that nothing would bring it to mind.
In my career, I have given boardroom presentations, handled difficult negotiations and delivered training to hundreds of people. In these situations, I have faced unexpected questions, carefully considered challenges and requests for clarification and, by knowing my material backwards and being able to think on my feet, have crafted the appropriate response and replied accordingly. Knowing this, you might have some idea of how surprised I was to find my mind vacant and incapable of a coherent response. Whilst one half of my brain was still processing the novelty of the situation, the other was acutely aware that questions regarding resource management and budgeting were coming thick and fast and I was not doing a good job of answering them. I spent the second hour of the interview fighting a rearguard action to make up lost ground, trying to reclaim a little of my professional pride and salvage a few scraps of dignity along the way. The panel members were cordial and polite to a fault but I sensed that I’d had my chance and blown it.
I conspired to do all this during the first of two back-to-back interviews, so my earlier fumblings were fresh in my mind as I walked to the second. As this second meeting took the form of an informal ‘get to know you’ lunch in a bijou Wellington bistro with a key player from one of the national banks, how could anything go wrong? My cheeks, still burning from the disconcerting loss of memory and the subsequent scramble to re-establish credibility in the previous interview, flushed again as my lunch partner opened by saying how impressed he’d been by my CV. This had been forwarded by his colleague, whom I’d met with a week or so ago in Auckland and, after running a few checks with the recruiters, the chap decided that he’d like to meet to see if I’d ‘fit’ his organisation. We slipped into a very pleasant chat, he asking the questions and I, composure regained and confidence restored, providing the answers until our bijou food arrived.
Over quesadillas and braised kidneys, I was pleased to learn that we shared common opinions on a fair number of issues and, with my earlier troubles receding, I relaxed into the moment. Sadly, I relaxed a little too much and, whilst listening intently to my lunch companion, a momentary pause of my right hand changed the delicate balance of a kidney on my fork, sending the morsel into the rich sauce below. Ploop! Like blood spattering a condo wall in an episode of ‘CSI Miami’, the sauce rose to prescribe a perfect arc across my crisp white shirt. Idly noting that the spray had strangely missed my tie altogether, I pulled the kind of ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you’ face that Stan Laurel used to give Oliver Hardy, dabbed myself with a napkin and commenced my second face-saving campaign of the day. To be fair, we both laughed and the conversation continued as before, with no further mention of the incident.

I walked back to the car, dreading the third interview of the day, namely the debrief with She Who Must Be Obeyed. After explaining that she might want to keep the champagne on ice a while longer, we fell into a deflated silence on the drive home. As we headed north, I found myself wondering how my respective interviewers would remember this day. Would the panel I met earlier always reflect on ‘that nicely presented guy’ who completely blanked when asked which software package his team used? Would the key player from the bank decline to pursue matters further but be quietly grateful for the ‘I once interviewed this Pom…’ story he can tell around the campfire at next year’s team building weekend?

Only time will tell.

Turbulence

Sunday, October 9th, 2005

“Oh…Dear…Lord…”

My neighbour, whose fingers were clamped deeply and firmly into the headrest in front of him, was clearly not enjoying the flight and spent a good deal of it in the ‘brace’ position recommended on the card in the pocket in front of him. To be fair, a small propeller-driven commuter aircraft flying up New Zealand’s west coast is not necessarily where one would choose to be when springtime Westerlies are blowing in across the Tasman from Australia. Riveting though the in-flight magazine was, it was no match for the drama unfolding in the cabin during the one hour flight from Palmerston North to Auckland. After complimentary coffee and tea had decorated enough laps and the hostess had fallen over twice, the cabin crew gave up serving the in-flight breakfast snack and passed amongst the passengers with rosaries, lucky heather and next-of-kin forms. Massive air pockets sent the plane lurching earthwards, leaving me an inch above the seat straining against my belt, until our descent was arrested by vigourous updrafts that pushed me down into the padding like a large invisible hand. Combined with the gale howling the other side of the small Plexiglass window, these roller-coaster moments made for an interesting trip and the relief of being back on the ground was evident on the faces of my fellow passengers as we filed across the apron to the terminal building.

I had flown to Auckland for an interview with the deputy HR director of a large national organisation. The interview had come about as a result of a ‘float’ by one of the recruiters I am using. A float, I discovered, is recruiter jargon for pitching a candidate to a prospective employer without a particular role in mind. Whilst this might sound a bit hit and miss, New Zealand’s present economic climate, low rate of unemployment – most employable people are gainfully employed – and static population mean that even the best of positions might only receive two or three applications. This being the case, employers are keen to meet with a promising candidate in the hope that they can match them to existing or upcoming roles in their organisations. In this case, the float was a good one, not only from from my point of view but that of the HR director and operations manager I interviewed with as well. The organisation seems to offer what I’m looking for and, I’m reliably informed, their feedback regarding me was unusually positive, with a specific commitment to try and find a role within the organisation that I could formally apply for.

Suitably cheered by the positive response, I returned from Auckland only to find that I shall have to fly back again next week, for a pre-interview with another recruiter concerning a position with a utility company. Should this gives the impression that job hunting in NZ is simply a matter of jetting about meeting people, then let me set the record straight. Far away from our old lives and networks, I have found it hard to establish an effective daily job hunting routine and securing two interviews in two weeks belies the routine slog that brought them about. Given that we have no landline telephone and therefore no fixed internet access at the beach house, establishing some sort of routine has become essential to making any progress in my job hunting. Usually, this routine involves checking the career sections in the New Zealand Herald and the Dominion Post (Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays), highlighting suitable roles and creating a tracking file for each role or recruiter. In these files, I record all the ad details, emails, phone conversations and meetings regarding each role. Given that, as of today, I am actively working with seven recruiters on six separate applications, not to mention other agencies I am registered with or jobs I’m applying for direct, I need to be comfortable with my system and confident I am on top of all that I need to do each day. As someone used to having at least 2Mb broadband access, fixed line telephone and a home office space to work with, trying to work without such things has been more of a challenge than I had bargained for.

My iBook and my new Nokia 6680 are both Bluetooth-capable and this means, in theory at least, that I can get online and work anywhere I can get a decent phone signal and faster 3G access in the major cities. In practise, things are a little more difficult and this has proven to be the most frustrating aspect of life here for me so far. GPRS, that is to say a fast data connection via my cellphone, is pretty costly here and means a pre-pay phone like the one SWMBO is using is out of the question, so I chose the 3G phone hoping to benefit from a faster service on a cheaper account tariff. Without an established credit history, signing up for a mobile account without a credit limit has been a trial and, whilst I have applied for an open account cleared by direct debit each month, I have yet to hear whether or not this has been approved. In the meantime, I have discovered that there is nothing more infuriating than preparing a bunch of emails and attachments, only to have the connection drop halfway through sending your mails because you have reached your credit limit. I have four other options available; using the internet terminals at the local township library 5 kms away or the main library 20 kms away or driving 40kms to Palmerston North to use an internet cafe or the pay-as-you-go wifi access at one of the coffee houses. Of these, the wifi option is preferable as I can access all my own documents on the iBook without the hassle of having to transferring them.

This uncertain state of affairs has driven me to distraction and, to my shame, have caused more than a few periods of turbulence and dark clouds around the house. Difficulties and frustrations are magnified by the fact that, as a family, we are removed from familiar surroundings, estranged from friends and colleagues and in each other’s company twenty four hours a day. The kids have relished their time away from school and, in the absence of their usual TV programmes, have played together a lot more. The simple fact that they can now occupy three bedrooms, as opposed to the solitary room they shared in the UK, has helped to reduce sibling rivalries and tensions significantly but their noisy and boisterous games don’t make for the conducive work-like atmosphere. Likewise, having a boring Dad who is always asking for quiet and moaning about the noise can cramp the style of four energetic youngsters. The lack of a desk or office space means that I must either perch on the end of the dining room table or retire to an easy chair in the corner of the living room to work, using my iPod to blot out the mayhem and chaos that goes on around me. Occasionally, I retreat to the bedroom downstairs to concentrate or make a call, in the fervent hope that the person I’m calling can’t hear the fratricidal goings-on upstairs. Unused to spending so much time in each other’s company, spousal relations have been strained too. Be it a disagreement about whether we should get a second car (without a car, you’re pretty well stranded in rural NZ) or a misunderstanding about something that was said back in the UK, every conversation is a potential flash point. Without the routines and support structures we are used to, both of us are aware and afraid of getting into arguments that we can’t resolve easily, fearful of long silences at the dinner table and, despite the very necessary electric blankets, cold shoulders at bedtime. After the storm has passed, tentative peace talks usually identify the causal factor of any dispute fairly quickly and, with both parties agreeing a mutually acceptable solution, hostilities dissolve and the house takes on a cordial atmosphere once again.

Storms of the meteorological kind have also played a significant part in our lives over the last two weeks. The view from our living room window is made up of just three elements; sand dunes, sky and sea. Like coast dwellers since time began, we often find ourselves transfixed by the view. Here, a world away from the crowded view of our London flat, we marvel at the cloud formations that announce the arrival of another weather front and crashing breakers that deposit the Tasman Sea at our back door. Just today, I found myself struck by the fact that, at an elemental level, there is no physical barrier between the cold angry water that foams over the dark volcanic sand here and the warm, reef-protected lagoon off Rarotonga where we snorkelled amongst pipe fish and coral just a few weeks back. That said, as Captains Cook and Tasman and the other pakeha who explored and mapped New Zealand discovered, the coastal water here are influenced by the winds and waves of the Pacific and Tasman, not to mention the frigid waters of the Antartic and, as such, are prone to impressive storms around each equinox.

Conscious that the preceding paragraphs read like the moans of a ‘whinging Pom’ (see joke below), let me reassure you that we love being here and are thoroughly enjoying ourselves. How can one complain about a country where one can buy five double-scoop ice cream cones for $5 (£1.97) or a five minute errand takes an hour and a half because every one wants to chat and find out why you’re here? In our admittedly limited experience so far, we have found almost all Kiwis to be generous with both their time and resources. For instance, the local pastor, having learned of my lack of connectivity when the family attended church last weekend, immediately tracked me down and offered me the use of his Airport Extreme wireless broadband connection any time I needed it. This has meant that, in the last week, I have been able to work from his dining room table or, when I have just needed to send the odd mail, simply pull up outside his house, log onto his home network and hit the ‘send’ button in my mail application. We have received solid house buying advice from a waitress that tallied with similar advice from friends and a chance word in a $2 shop led to the loan of a cat basket when we needed to collect the cats from the cattery.

Despite our uncertain immigration status, the principals of both the local primary school and the local college have both been happy to enrol the three eldest girls, citing the need for them to get settled and make new friends as being more important than funding and paper work, at least for the time being. Both schools are made up of bright, airy single storey buildings laid out across large spacious campuses. Here, large playing fields with an abundance of climbing frames, play equipment and open air swimming pools with sun canopies are the norm even for the smallest schools. The classrooms are filled with artwork and project material that draws equally from both the Maori and Pakeha (European settler) cultures, alongside a multitude of All Blacks posters, which stand as testament to the strong national pride here as well as the fierce opposition the local teams dealt the British Lions in June. The general ethos in the schools seems to be one of work hard, play hard but have fun doing both. Come tomorrow morning, we will see if this is borne out as the eldest girls will start their New Zealand school careers, a little nervous of what to expect but excited too. Although the littlest has been attending an Early Years Unit at a London primary school since she was three, children here do not attend school until their fifth birthday so we’re hoping to sign her up at the local kindergarten in the meantime, so she can make friends and SWMBO can have a few hours to herself each weekday.

The landscape here is simply wonderful and we are truly lucky to be able to view the vast expanse of the ocean from one side of the house and the low mountains of the Tararua State Forest Park from the other. Any car journey affords great views of the hills across the rolling farms, wide flood plains and thick swathes of fir. The wide views and distant horizons have enabled us to see the complete arc of the most vivid rainbows we have ever seen. At night, without the light pollution that blights so many places these days, the sky is crammed with stars and, just over a week ago, we saw a shooting star streak across the sky, mirrored in the ocean below. The southern spring is slowly giving way to summer and the fields are filled with young lambs, calves and foals, all grazing on the rich grass of riverine meadows of Horowhenua, the region where we currently live.

Our nearest large town is Levin and it looks like many others here, based as it is around a main street that sits astride a State Highway. On each side, the highway is bounded by covered walkways and canopies outside the shops and stores. Interspersed with these are entrance to small shopping malls that run perpendicular to the road and often lead to large parking lots at the rear. More often than not, these are surrounded by the larger chain stores and supermarkets. The fact that these large stores are away from the main street helps to preserve not only the feel of an older high street but means that the smaller independent store have more than a fighting chance in grabbing their share of passing trade. At either end of the main street, the shops gradually give way to the larger commercial premises of car dealerships, builders merchants and other service industry outlets. The town boasts a great adventure park where the kids went wild yesterday until rain stopped play, a small aquatic centre where we swam today and a thriving cinema that shows world cinema releases alongside blockbusters.

Closer to home, Foxton is a small town built around a Main Street that is one block back from but parallel to State Highway 1. As the first settlement of the Manawatu, Foxton had aspirations to become the regional hub but, unlike most towns in the region, was not founded on a farming community. Founded by a Presbyterian missionary in 1848, the town only began to thrive when a flax mill was opened twenty years later, processing flax harvested from the surrounding swamps. The town eventually grew to support fifty mills and a thriving river port but Foxton’s growth was also it’s undoing. A wooden tramway (later railway) was built to connect it to the new settlement of Palmerston North, which lay 40kms inland. However, a depressed economy and the diversion of the railways to serve business interests elsewhere sealed Foxton’s fate, with it’s gradual decline ironically balanced by Palmerston North’s growth into a thriving university city. Today, a carpet factory, providing local jobs but itself under threat, is all that remains of this manufacturing heritage and the town is now reliant on tourism and crafts for it’s main incomes.

To the seaward side of Foxton lies Foxton Beach, where we are living in a house kindly lent to us by friends. The township is comprised mostly of homes belonging to retirees and beach houses (‘baches’), interwoven with the odd holiday motel and motor camp (caravan park). Intriguingly, I was told in conspiratorial tones by a local that a lot of single parents on low incomes move here, though quite what I was to make of that I am not sure. This little community sits in the mouth of the Manawatu estuary with a sailing club and slipway nestled alongside a bird sanctuary. Apart from the usual dairy (corner shop) and petrol station, commerce in the township also includes a second hand store that is never open, Mr Grumpy’s fish and chip shop and a small bar and eatery called Simply Balmy. All this is overseen and protected by a volunteer fire service who are summoned by what sounds like a nuclear attack siren, an enormous lifeguard station on the beach and a police station that is smaller than our living room. Whilst it is highly unlikely that I will find work locally or that we will settle here long term, it is a delightful area full of wonderful little towns and lovely people. Our time here so far has proven to be a marvellous antidote of to our many years of city living and a superb introduction to the country we hope to make our home.

Kiwi joke: How can you tell if an aeroplane at the airport is carrying Poms? The whining carries on after the engines are turned off!

From your foreign correspondent

Thursday, October 6th, 2005

Life is good but, for the time being, all the blogging I’m able to do will be over at my New Zealand blog, No. 8 Wire. I will resume blogging here when our lives are a little more settled and I have a dedicated connection again.