Showing posts with label government. Show all posts
Showing posts with label government. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Age is Relative

An Afternoon in Kerikeri
An Afternoon in Kerikeri
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.
While traveling in England and Scotland many years ago, my mother and I noted that, "In the United States, we think 100 years is a long time. In the UK, they think 100 miles is a long distance." This phrase encapsulated for us two features that stood out during our travels: people were routinely befuddled by how long she and I were willing to drive to see something, and we were routinely befuddled at how old everything was. Even the bars were 300 years old.

So I never thought I'd say it, but I feel like an old timer in New Zealand. Even by American standards, everything here is very young. During our trip to the Bay of Islands, we visited Kerikeri near Waitangi which boasts the "oldest stone building in New Zealand." Now given the otherwise very English feel to so much of this country -- crumpets, biscuits, scones and tea come to mind immediately -- we anticipated a truly old building. The Stone Store, however, was built in the 1830s. My best friends in Philadelphia lived in a house about 50 years older than that so it's hard for me to think of this quaint little store as the "oldest" anything. Perhaps the single most important treaty between the native people and the white settlers was signed at Waitangi in 1840 during the administration of U.S. President Martin Van Buren and just about when that Englishman forever changed architecture with the invention of the blue print. Even native culture here is young by American and Mexican standards. Last summer, we visited villages dating 2,500 to 3,000 years old in the American Southwest. We went to a museum in La Paz with artifacts dating nearly 20,000 years. The wane in which the Māori people arrived on the islands, however, are only about 1,000 years old. And while we still have a lot to learn and will continue to research, so far Mera's research suggests there is no evidence for humans coming down here any earlier.

Which makes New Zealand very young, and it makes me wonder what she'll be when she grows up. A modern industrialized nation with a relatively strong central, democratic government leaps onto the world stage essentially at the beginning of the Information Age. New Zealand is only now stretching her collective muscle towards being separate and distinct from her domineering imperial mother England, and her loud, brash physical neighbor Australia. It's fascinating listening to the conversation from the inside as New Zealanders debate how, why and when this country should differentiate its political voice on issues of global import. What does this country represent? What are its major sports? Its industrial specialties? When is New Zealand the "go to" country when you want a representative of a particular perspective on an environmental or economic or human rights issue?

I can't answer these questions, but what's probably more interesting is that I doubt there is an honest Kiwi in the entire country who can either. Fundamentally, New Zealand hasn't decided these questions yet for itself. This is a country that, while not in any danger of the violent overthrow of its government, nevertheless is seriously considering the adoption a new flag.* The current New Zealand flag is royal blue with the British Union jack in one corner and the Southern Cross. You can see why this flag is a bit problematic. Clearly, it's derivative. Pretty much all of us former Brit colonies have eventually chucked the Union Jack. There are several proposed flags, the most predominant being that of the United Tribes of New Zealand. It is white with a modified Southern Cross and the black and red bands common to Māori art. It's historical use during the Treaty of Waitangi to represent the tribes has made this the flag of choice for Māori. Others say ditch the entire colonial and tribal controversy and strike out in a whole new direction with a radical new look. Many flags have been proposed but the most popular seem to use as a central theme the silver fern leaf.

It's like rolling back time and getting a whiff of what it must have been like in the United States when these issues were discussed. And at the same time, this conversation is taking place in a time so economically, scientifically, and sociologically different that the discussion quite literally involves all four million Kiwis simultaneously rather than just a few white old men in major urban centers isolated from the opinions of the governed population.

I want to root for these people. Like the Chinese, they get to skip entire phases of industrialization. They get to pick and choose from global examples of what works and what doesn't work in finance, law, health care, and education. The population is small enough that a few people can change the entire country. At the same time, the population is small enough that God help them a few people can really screw things up. Management matters and particularly so in a country like New Zealand where they can't really afford to make major mistakes. When they make a major mistake -- for example in the 1980's someone screwed up absolutely royally regarding building codes -- the entire country suffers. I mean every single last person in the country, including my family, are going to have to deal with the fact that 25 years ago a lot of buildings were built to very crappy standards and are now quite literally falling down on our heads.

All of this interests my children not at all and my husband very little. I, however, find it fascinating and have been filling my ears with Kiwi news and social media. While the girls learn how to say 'whut ehva' and DrC relearns how to remove cataracts, I'm studying the political economy of the antipodes. And doing the laundry.


* Now before you get all smug and remind that the U.S. flag changed a mere 50 some odd years ago when Alaska and Hawaii were made states, it's probably more fair to say that the U.S. flag hasn't fundamentally changed in basic design since 1776 since all we've been doing is adding more and more stars.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Step 1 - Get a Phone

[Editor's Note] Better late than never... I'm finally going to post our "Moving to New Zealand" series. It's 8 or 9 steps which I'll publish more or less in sequence over the next month or two though the events that inspired them were smushed more like into three weeks. I'll probably intersperse these with more interesting and personal stuff since the series is rather drier and more practical than is truly my nature. If you want to read the series all together, I'll give them a single "moving" tag.

Lounging About
Lounging About
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.
When we dismantled our lives in Seattle, we were forever astonished by how many strings we left trailing behind. It seemed that for months random charges, irate emails, and miscellaneous to do's appeared out of nowhere like urbanized black magic sprinkled through our days. For those considering dropping out, going for a walk about, or otherwise escaping the Real World, I'd like you to first adventure with me on a little thought exercise.

I want you to pretend for a moment that the companies with whom you routinely do business are actually toddlers -- strong willed, very healthy, robust toddlers dressed in company colors with appropriately logo'd baseball caps. Each company more or less only reaches to your waist. Since very few can jump high enough to grab you in a stranglehold, abandoning them to the wolves in the forest merely requires a hard heart and pair of ear plugs. Sometimes, it's easier if you leave a basket of food behind. For example, you could simply pay a small discontinuation fee on an account or forego getting your money back on a security deposit which distracts the toddler-company long enough for you to get offshore and out of reach.

A few of these toddlers have big brothers who can and will turn you upside and shake until the gold in your fillings drops out of your mouth. To escape, you need to identify these lien holders early on and get them paid off. Make sure you have their assurance in writing that your presence is no longer necessary for their happiness and well being. While we were bobbing on the hook in a wild anchorage of northern Vancouver Island, we had one bank chase us down and try to foreclose on a piece of commercial real estate for the sin of not being physically where they expected us. These people you do not want to screw with. Best to make them go away in advance.

But with persistence and a long knife, you can and will be able to cut nearly all strings that tie you to the daily world of bills, mortgages, payments, subscriptions, auto-transfers, annual fees and the lot. The rest you give to your mommy and say, "Take care of it."

Then you leave.

Great, but now we're trying to reenter the regular world and are finding it takes nearly as much work to get yourself reestablished as it did to cut the ties to begin with. First, while we have grown and matured during the intervening years, the companies with whom we do business are still whiney, spoiled toddlers. Those who actually remember us from the good ole days are whiney, spoiled, vengeful toddlers. The rest are merely annoying and petulant.

As we reengage with civilization, we discover the world is full of Catch 22 loops such as the following:
* At most New Zealand banks, you can not open a bank account unless you have a permanent address.
* Most New Zealand rental properties will only accept a draft on a New Zealand bank account for your bond and first week rental payment.

Like that? How about this one:
* You can't get a visa until you have a job.
* You can't apply for a job until you have a visa.
Hmm.

Okay, not good enough? Try this one:
In New Zealand, they assume you have -- at some point in your life -- purchased electricity. So when you wish to turn on the lights at your new home, the first question in the online form is your account number without which the form literally will not progress. And what happens when in desperation you call the company... because gee... you don't have an account number? The automated friendly phone voice also prompts you for this same account number without which she dooms you to a virtually unending purgatory of musak until one of the electrical company's three live customer representatives gets back from tea.

The trick is the work around. The work around inevitably costs more money. Budget for your reentry to the world on the assumption that it is going to take more time and cost more than you currently anticipate by at least 10% in both cases.

Hatching Jaime
Hatching Jaime
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.
We discovered that when all is said and done, the first thing you must do to get reintegrated into the regular world is to buy a phone. Without a phone number, you can literally do nothing. There is something about those mystical audio digits that confers "realness" in a way that bank drafts, passports, and work contracts do not. It also turns out that getting a phone number these days is about as dramatic a process as picking up a pair of new shoes. Wander the mall, look at the various models, select one, buy a SIM card, load it up with some money. They don't ask for your phone number (don't laugh! … By the time we arrived at the "buy phone" conclusion, we fully expected the store to require a phone number for us to get a phone number…). They don't even require that you give them your name. Drug dealers must love this.

So in addition to our preference for fast boats, sunny climates, and the avoidance of real work, cruisers have another thing in common with drug dealers… we like unregistered phones. It took us 72 hours to come to the Buy Phone conclusion during which we were quite literally unable to get anything useful done. Now we have a really dodgy piece of Sony Ericsson crap and a cellular phone number with a weird number of digits that make no sense.

Moving on…

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Three Inches of Paperwork

Kiss My Fish
Kiss My Fish
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.
I'm not complaining. I swear I am not complaining.

Okay, I'm complaining.

Our documentation to apply for New Zealand work visas consisted of hundreds of sheets of white paper repeatedly stating the obvious: there are five of us, we are all related, we have no criminal record, and we don't have any known communicable diseases. Each must included a signed photo. Our name, passport number, and date of birth must be written on each and every page. IN ALL CAPS.

Now when we filled out all this paperwork, I experienced a deeply uneasy feeling that it wasn't going to work. No matter how good the government -- and New Zealand is ranked number 1 as the least corrupt country in the world -- submitting three solid inches of paperwork can not be good. It was inevitable that Bad Juju would happen.

At first, the problem was simple. New Zealand's medical authorizing agency didn't agree that DrC was a doctor. Now this might raise eyebrows, but we figured it was probably a tit for tat measure. Somewhere along the line, the United States got snooty about the qualifications of some Kiwi doctors so in retaliation, the Medical College said, "Hey… well if you don't think our docs know an ass from a hole in the knee, then we're fairly well convinced your docs don't either." We could be wrong. That's wild speculation. But it makes sense.

So we stood on one foot, jumped up and down singing a kumbya mantra, resubmitted roughly two thirds of his credentials going back to prove that he did emerge from a human womb, continuing with validation that he did drink the Koolaid in kindergarten and finishing up with a dance number in which DrC did -not- wear lace panties but he did wear the Do Me heels. With these slight changes, />poof/< It turns out that DrC is actually a doctor. Good to know.

So our agent then dutifully trundles off to the New Zealand embassy with our visa applications. And everything is complete. Right? Of course not. First, New Zealand is highly suspicious of the fact that the doctor doing our medical examination is the same individual who evaluated our chest X-rays. I'm betting our somewhat sarcastic and nearly automatic response to a situation of this nature -- This is Mexico -- isn't going to work. So because this IS Mexico, we trundled off to get a radiology friend of our doctor to reprint the reports on his letterhead.

New Zealand also understandably did not appreciate that the lab results were in Spanish. Off we go to get the lab director to retype up the report in English -- where in he must change words such as PSA to PSA and glucosa to glucose. It's a big deal.

Arriving Back in La Paz
Arriving Back at La Paz
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.
I am not complaining, however. Not really. Getting into New Zealand is proving only slightly more challenging than getting our car registered in Washington state and slightly less difficult than securing a Mexican fishing license. With the exception of the weird rabies timeline on the cat, I find virtually all their requirements and requests reasonable, albeit tedious.

But the bottom line is that we still do not have visas. We have plane tickets, jobs, and a resident hotel reservation, but no visas. Fingers crossed people!