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Ian, 8 May 2008
New Zealand Christchurch

The End of the Beginning

On 27 April 2007, exactly one year and two weeks ago, Julie and I closed our front door for the last time, got on our bicycles, cycled into Bedford town centre, dropped off the house keys with the real estate agents and cycled out of town. Eight months, 10,000 km. and 20 countries later, we arrived in Christchurch; slighter poorer financially but infinitely richer in many other ways. What a journey it’s been- far more than either of us anticipated in so many ways. We’ve seen and experienced things beyond our expectations. It’s made us physically stronger but, far more significantly, it’s made us mentally and emotionally stronger. Fundamentally, it’s made us realise that to be born white, middle-class and English-speaking is to be blessed.

Before we set off, I had a rosy picture of our departure day being one of excited anticipation and joy to be underway. Actually, it was one of fear and trepidation and feelings of “what-on-Earth-have-we-done?”; probably the worst day of the entire trip. It didn’t take long, however, to realise we had made the right decision. The hardest inescapable fact is that we’ve left our UK family and our friends. But one of the two of us is always going to be living in the “wrong” place and, with communication links being what they are now, the physical separation is much less than it could be. Hopefully, it will provide our UK nearest and dearest with a new (and regular) holiday destination.

Our experience since arriving in Christchurch has, in some ways, been far more challenging than the bike trip itself. We’ve had a lot to deal with and we’re only just now, four months on, getting properly settled.

Even getting into the country proved an obstacle. We came via Sydney and, on getting to the check-in desk for the Sydney – Christchurch leg, Julie was asked to show her onward ticket. When informed it was a one-way trip because we were going to live there, he wanted to know where her NZ visa was... In hindsight, this was the biggest mistake of our whole trip- we naively thought that, since we had been married for 12 years and I was a national, Julie could just slip into the country unhindered. Not the case: we had to buy Julie a one-way ticket out of NZ on the spot before we were allowed to board.

Since arriving, we’ve been staying with my bother Neil, his partner, Kate, and her delightful seven-year old daughter, Olivia. They’ve been wonderful hosts although I’m sure none of us expected us to stay for four months. There’s been much to arrange in that time: jobs, bank accounts, residency, credit cards, driving licences, shipping of our household effects, transfer of U.K. funds (I’m sooo glad to be out of the U.K. banking system) and, over-riding all that, a home. Thankfully, I’ve been very fortunate on the job front: exactly two weeks after dropping my c.v. off at various potential employers, I started work in at a big N.Z. engineering consultancy (apparently it’s an office record) in its Water team in the town centre. I still can’t get over how lucky I’ve been- it’s a great job (apparently I’m a Senior Environmental Scientist) and it’s a great bunch of people to work with. It’s given us the much-needed initial security after so long with no income.

Julie’s progress has been much slower. Despite New Zealand being desperate for skilled workers, the bureaucratic hoops that need to be jumped through must exclude all but the most persistent would-be migrants. First, there was the medical required for her temporary work visa: this identified a lump on one of her breasts, giving us a week of distress before being confirmed as nothing sinister. Then there’s been Julie’s U.K. police checks. We had one done before we left the U.K. but, because, it was more than three months old on arrival in N.Z., it was deemed out of date and we had to get another done- despite the fact that we hadn’t even been in the U.K. in the intervening period. And because Julie was applying for residency under the relationship rule and I’d been out of N.Z. for more than seven years myself, I needed a police check as well. These take 40 days to issue- a long time to wait, twiddling your thumbs. What’s more, despite getting them posted to us in N.Z. via recorded delivery, the N.Z. courier managed to lose them- it was only when we chased them up that they were discovered sitting on a shelf in the courier’s depot. Once they were finally received, we moved on to assessment of Julie’s teaching qualifications- she even had to contact the U.K. university where she trained to get hold of a copy of her course transcript from c. 30 years ago (something she’s never had cause to use at any stage in her U.K. teaching career). Just last week, the very last hurdle was cleared- Julie's now an N.Z. registered teacher and can officially apply for teaching positions. Hoorah! One good thing about the delay in her job situation is that it’s given her a chance to settle into Christchurch life- she’s now on first-name terms with a local butcher...

While all this has been going on, much of our non-working, waking hours have been spent house-hunting. We’ve arrived at an interesting time: house prices have rocketed in N.Z. over the last few years and now they’re starting to cool dramatically as the word “recession” is being bandied about. There’s been something of a stand-off between vendors still wanting high prices and buyers sitting on their hands, waiting. Because we’ve come in as unconditional cash buyers, we’ve been at a distinct advantage in this market. Having said that, it’s generally been a pretty disheartening experience. Much of the housing stock is pretty poor- many houses in New Zealand are either poorly insulated or not insulated at all; it was only in the late 1970s that insulation became mandatory. Double glazing has only been required for c. six months. We also quickly learned to be very afraid as soon as “architecturally-designed” was mentioned- it typically means “unliveable flight of fancy”. We were, however, told by more than one person that, when we saw the right house, we’d know we’d found it: they were right. Having seen something like 70 houses, we’ve finally bought one. It’s seven years old, architecturally-designed(!), double-glazed, centrally heated and clad in corrugated iron. Given that Julie always insisted that she wasn’t coming to N.Z. “to live in a tin shack”, this seems entirely fitting. We moved in, to what has already become known amongst our family as the Big Red Shed, six days ago and I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have our own place after more than 12 months of being homeless. We’re keen to nest and to have house guests- we have three spare bedrooms, so make your holiday arrangements now!

There has, however, been a very sad background to all our excitements. In the month prior to us arriving, my Mum hadn’t been very well and, the week we arrived, she finally got round to going to the doctor. A mass in her abdomen was identified; later confirmed as pancreatic cancer. Although an operation was carried out in mid-February, it did not remove the cancer and, subsequently, it was just a matter of palliative care. She died on 16 April, just short of her 77th birthday. The last time she was up was to greet us at the airport and then for a family gathering the following day. In some ways, our time here has been the best of times and the worst of times. At least I’ve been here rather than half-way around the world or, possibly worse still, somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Asia. Her funeral turned out to be rather lovely time: sad but with some poignant laughter amongst a gathering of family and friends. Interspersed with music and songs, Neil read a piece about her legendary frugality and I gave a little eulogy, finishing off by reciting one of her favourite poems (slightly bowdlerised for the family audience):

This Be The Verse- by Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can
And don’t have kids yourself.


I deliberately haven’t written anything here about our thoughts on New Zealand since we arrived: for you non-resident readers, you’ll just have to come and see for yourself… We like it.

To finish off, here are some facts, figures and thoughts about our travels…

Distance covered: 9,549 km
Countries visited: 20
Number of punctures: five (Julie: four, Ian: one)
Biggest mechanical problem: one broken spoke (Julie)
Crash ‘n burns: two (both Julie, thankfully low-speed ones- tripping over a curb in Croatia and descending the so-called road crossing Ko Tao in Thailand).
Favourite countries for cycle touring: Norway, Austria, Switzerland [albeit not on this trip], Thailand
Favourite cities: Stockholm and Dubrovnik
Most rewarding happenstance: meeting Kim & Anne just outside Copenhagen (see blog entry “Kindness in Kobnhavn”)
Worst campsite: Gyor in Hungary
Best campsites: Rolvsfjord in Norway, Stromstad in Sweden and Kastraki (Meteora) in Greece
Worst-value campsite: Sortland in Norway (£20 to camp in a forested bog- and we had to pay extra for showers!)
Most surly service: both in Croatia- hotel in Gospic and a campsite on the coast
Greatest distance in a day: 147.3 km. (on the “death dual-carriageway” between Dehli and Jaipur)
Biggest culture shocks: Arriving in Lahore from London and, later, arriving in Bangkok from Kolkata
Physically hardest day: Igoumenitsa to Ioannina in Greece- 100 km. of high heat, higher hills and Greek drivers
Emotionally hardest day: Day One out of Bedford
Most awe-inspiring scenery: the Lofoten Islands in Norway
Most under-rated sight: the “Baby Taj” in Agra- truly delightful
Most sobering scenes: the grinding poverty in the eastern Terai of Nepal
Most poignant moment: reading Beryl’s note to her father in Kanchanaburi cemetery, near the Bridge over the River Kwai (see entry “Life’s a Beach”)
Best meals: the New Everest Steak House in Pokhara and pretty much every single one in Thailand
Worst meals: self-cooked in Gyor (pesto doesn’t go with sweet tortellini…) and quite a few in Pakistan/India/Nepal
Biggest “red-mist” moment: Mahoba railway station in India when we discovered our bikes had been taken off a train some 200 km. back up the line from where we got off
Thefts: one (Ian- monkey stole a water bottle in Thailand)
Losses: Visa card (Ian- D-Oh!), map (Julie), guidebook (Julie), purse with small monies (Julie), passport (almost- Julie)
Most irritating things: car and lorry horns in Greece, India and Nepal and bike-chasing dogs in Thailand
Favourite luxury item: mini-hairdryer for Julie and digital SLR camera for Ian
Most significant “what-would-we-do-differently” stuff: don’t take camping equipment in Asia, take a water filter in Asia

Some random thoughts that occurred to me during the course of our travels:

• The World is a big place
• The World isn’t actually that big
• I don’t like slugs
• Being born white, English-speaking and middle-class is to be blessed
• Most of the stuff we accumulate in life is just that: stuff. Family, friends and experiences are the most important things. My little soulmate is THE most important thing
• Jobs and work are over-rated
• Digital cameras are fun
• Sunshine is a wonderful thing
• The rain WILL stop, some time…
• Cycle-tourists tend to be well-balanced, interesting people
• Clean, potable water is our most precious resource
• Some jobs crush people’s souls
• Smiles cost nothing, but are priceless
• Talk is cheap; doing is what counts
• What is it with racist, bigoted middle-aged Aussie men (usually from Perth or the Gold Coast) who think that, despite the “bloody Abos and bloody immigrant Muslims, Australia is still the best bloody country on Earth” and who simply can’t comprehend why anyone would want to go across the Tasman to live? [No offence, mate, but it’s because of narrow-minded, xenophobic dickheads like you]
• The kindness of strangers reminds you of the essential goodness of people
• I am turning into my father
• Taking a loaded touring bike onto a train is how I imagine a seal must feel going on to dry land
• Life is about making things happen, not letting things happen
• Most railway ticket office staff, world-wide, must hate their jobs
• If you think you're having a bad day, take a deep breath and get over yourself. There are millions of people in the world who would give everything they own to be in your shoes
• I don’t like wasps, either
• Some of life’s most rewarding experiences happen by chance
• There is an almost inverse relationship between wealth and generosity
• You can tell a lot about a country from its public parks
• I love mangoes and mango juice
• You know you’ve arrived somewhere exotic when most of the roadkill is reptilian
• There’s something about a well-maintained lawn
• It’s difficult to talk about your experiences of India without sounding racist
• Obesity is a disease of affluence; there’s no such thing as a truly poor fat person
• Long-distance train journeys can be fun; long distance bus journeys rarely are
• Breakfast is special

And finally, a rather apt quote from T.S. Eliot that I came across:

“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

Bon voyage!

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