We have been here one month today. It's hard to believe we trudged kilometres up the hill to the monthly Titirangi market, jet-lagged and in the baking sun, four Sundays ago. Today K and I went on a lunch date, leaving the kids with a friend's teenaged daughter, and passed the bustle of that same Titirangi market (and again, it's a scorcher of a day!). It feels as though a lifetime has passed since we first arrived.
In the four weeks, we bought a car, we managed to find schools for the kids, and both of them are extremely happy. K contacted the three main colleges where he could lecture, and has had hours of meetings with them (with no immediate results, I might add). We also bought a house on Valentine's Day, contrary to all common sense and advice for settling immigrants. We can move in by next Friday. Everything in NZ works very quickly, and occupation can be within 5 days. All we need is a lawyer, and there are no transfer fees.
We are thrilled that the plot is over 2200 m2, which was our dream. If we can clear a bit of the bush, we will maybe still get our chickens. When we saw the Jacaranda and lemon tree in the back garden, we thought, mmm, this rings a bell. Must be a good sign.
All has not been a bed of roses though. We adore Titirangi. It is perfect for us, except…. there are always things you can't tell just by looking at online pictures.
For one, the bush in NZ isn't quiet at all. It hisses constantly like a high-pressure industrial gas leak about to explode. The hotter the sun, the higher the pitch of cicada call, a relentless buzzing. In the dead of the night, once the 38 species of millions of noisy cicadas finally take a nap, we hear blood-curdling animal shrieks. It's a violent place for some life forms, apparently.
And it has rained almost every day for the past two weeks, even in the prime heat of Summer. Thick plops of cool water that gush and glug through the clay rivers, down the slopes of the Waitakere ranges and straight into the sea. Life carries on as normal in the rain. Kiwis are a shorts and t-shirt culture, and they walk like that in the rain; sometimes they carry an umbrella.
And then, there's the lack of an instant, taken-for-granted, primeval sense of belonging here. As I wrote to a friend last week, I know why people head back to SA. Because after the novelty of good service, toy libraries, fancy parks, no litter, little crime has worn off, well, then you look around for... love. They head back for love, because love takes time; it cannot be bought or controlled. It is amazing that it constantly ends up being one of the most vital ingredients for mental health and well being. People do crazy things for love.
All in all, we still pinch ourselves every day we wake up here in the rain forest. We are still running up hills, visiting the beach almost every day, cloud-watching, loving the interesting mix of people. Today was a glorious late summer's day, the kind of day where you don't have a care in the world.
In the four weeks, we bought a car, we managed to find schools for the kids, and both of them are extremely happy. K contacted the three main colleges where he could lecture, and has had hours of meetings with them (with no immediate results, I might add). We also bought a house on Valentine's Day, contrary to all common sense and advice for settling immigrants. We can move in by next Friday. Everything in NZ works very quickly, and occupation can be within 5 days. All we need is a lawyer, and there are no transfer fees.
We are thrilled that the plot is over 2200 m2, which was our dream. If we can clear a bit of the bush, we will maybe still get our chickens. When we saw the Jacaranda and lemon tree in the back garden, we thought, mmm, this rings a bell. Must be a good sign.
All has not been a bed of roses though. We adore Titirangi. It is perfect for us, except…. there are always things you can't tell just by looking at online pictures.
For one, the bush in NZ isn't quiet at all. It hisses constantly like a high-pressure industrial gas leak about to explode. The hotter the sun, the higher the pitch of cicada call, a relentless buzzing. In the dead of the night, once the 38 species of millions of noisy cicadas finally take a nap, we hear blood-curdling animal shrieks. It's a violent place for some life forms, apparently.
And it has rained almost every day for the past two weeks, even in the prime heat of Summer. Thick plops of cool water that gush and glug through the clay rivers, down the slopes of the Waitakere ranges and straight into the sea. Life carries on as normal in the rain. Kiwis are a shorts and t-shirt culture, and they walk like that in the rain; sometimes they carry an umbrella.
And then, there's the lack of an instant, taken-for-granted, primeval sense of belonging here. As I wrote to a friend last week, I know why people head back to SA. Because after the novelty of good service, toy libraries, fancy parks, no litter, little crime has worn off, well, then you look around for... love. They head back for love, because love takes time; it cannot be bought or controlled. It is amazing that it constantly ends up being one of the most vital ingredients for mental health and well being. People do crazy things for love.
All in all, we still pinch ourselves every day we wake up here in the rain forest. We are still running up hills, visiting the beach almost every day, cloud-watching, loving the interesting mix of people. Today was a glorious late summer's day, the kind of day where you don't have a care in the world.
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