The weekend, 10-11 November
After a whirlwind week of two different schools, two different towns and three different apartments, we were all ready to hang out and chill for a couple of days. The boys did lots of reading. Doug and I are doing research on many fronts - figuring out how to mail gifts back to family in the states, taxes, healthcare, sports teams for the boys, and accommodation options for Christmas and New Year’s celebration. If we aren’t able to move into our new home by Christmas we need to find another place because this apartment is already rented for the end of December and New Year’s eve. We may just take a road trip. I truly don’t know how research was conducted before the Internet. When the DSL modem arrived this weekend, we were finally able to connect to the world from our shoebox apartment.
With an Internet connection, we were able to continue our blog. For me just the act of writing is my connection to family and friends. While the writing isn’t deep, it offers me time to process and reflect a few moments each day. Someday, maybe Liam and Colin will want to look back and retrace our migration path and at least a bare outline will be documented. Liam too is in a writing mood. Almost every day he spends time writing about his travels.
Liam, Colin and I hiked around on Queenstown Hill across the street from our apartment on Saturday afternoon to give Doug some quiet work time. Sunday we all walked around Queenstown Gardens and went out for Mexican food. We discovered that Mexican food is different in New Zealand. Burritos resemble wraps and seem to be deep-fried. Maybe we will open a Cal-Mex or Tex-Mex restaurant…
Queenstown is quite a trip. Even though some might consider it a distant corner of the world, people arrive from everywhere. One morning this week, everyone was speaking Italian. Japanese tourists arrive in town by the busload. Backpackers from Australia, Germany, and the US crash with their packs by the lake. The central streets are bustling and crowded. Sunday night a band played next to the wharf. Young and old sprawled on the lawn soaking up the music and late afternoon sun. The community is a fusion of tourists, seasonal visitors and more permanent residents. I guess it is like most tourist centres. We feel somewhere between tourists and something a little less transient, but not quite locals yet.
The boys even experience this diversity at school. Colin walked out of class with two classmates. Some asked where is was from and Colin replied, “America.”
The little girl quickly added, “Well, I was born in Japan.
“Well, I moved from Brazil,” the little boy responded.
I thought, how ironic, we move to a little town on a small island nation and the Colin has more diversity here than he did in his big city US school.
People don’t just end up here by accident. For us, a vacation grew into a dream that became a reality. I wonder how many others followed this trajectory? All through history, some people have migrated and some have stayed home. I wonder if there are predictive personality characteristics that can identify which people will migrate? I think that my great-grandfather immigrated to the US from Scotland. I wonder what was his impetus? That is one reason that I am documenting this move. Maybe my grandkids or great-grandkids will wonder why on the earth did my grandparents move to NZ? More likely they will never give it a thought.
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