I took some vacation time and booked a ticket in June 1999. Americans don’t need to apply for a visa as long as they can show onward or return passage, so I just got the visitor permit at the airport as I arrived. After getting to Wellington it was hard not to stay and after a couple months I started working here.”

“Getting work isn’t terribly difficult as long as you have good qualifications and are willing to make some changes. I had to completely change my resume, turn it from a page into 20 pages with information on just about everything I could consider. In New Zealand your curriculum vitae is like a first interview. It has to contain just about everything you could possibly want someone to know about your abilities as a worker. Besides that Kiwis are big on presentation. No matter what job you’re applying for you show up in a suit, a slick tie and a big smile. Protocol, decorum and formalities are the Kiwi way to start things off, but a week after starting work I was showing up in Polo’s with jeans and fitting in well. Wellington is probably the most formal city in New Zealand. The parliament’s here and offices for the other government departments, and head offices for a lot of high profile businesses.”

That’s all wonderful but I’m still wondering why he decided to end up staying here. “Like I said, I can’t say there was really anything keeping me in Chicago. I hadn’t really been too many places. I had visited family in England, been to Mexico a few times but nothing this far. Once I got here what bowled me over was just the physical beauty of the place. I was staying in a developed city with all the amenities I needed but living in a small house on top of a hill with an ocean view and just a 15 minute drive away from downtown. For the past four years I had lived in lots of 1 or 2 bedroom apartments on double digit floors of buildings staring into the backend of another building. The closest neighbour I had here lived a good twenty feet lower on the hill. And once my girlfriend took me out windsurfing I was hooked. The harbour has all these activities going on during the weekends that you just don’t picture taking place in cities. The Kiwis are extreme about protecting the environment. It’s understandable, when you consider that their major exports are wool, mutton and dairy products. More than 50% of the land in New Zealand is used for agricultural purposes and there’s something like 12.5 sheep per person. The big hoopla for the “Lord of the Rings” movies has also boosted tourism prospects. All those places in the movie actually exist around here. I’m planning to move into some kind of tourism industry as well. That’s where all the money is going now, setting up snowboarding or skiing lodges, jet-boat tours, bungee-jumping, mountain-biking, camping facilities, all that. Wellington is right in the centre of the two islands and the best place to either travel to or hear about these places.” I realize that Mike just gave me part of the reason for the people’s affability towards all foreigners. They want tourist money, but that doesn’t explain their friendly disposition toward immigrant workers.

I point out to Mike that New Zealand is the first place I have ever noticed immigrant workers from India or, for that matter, any other developing Asian nation being treated as equals, neither snide attitude nor cries of “there go our jobs” lashing back at them. After spending years living in Saudi Arabia, the United States, and several other places where your Indianness is an admission of second-class citizenship, it was almost insulting not to have anything to rebel against. It was almost as if someone had wiped out the characteristics of your identity and did not recognize you. Mike rolled himself a cigarette, New Zealand policy has made buying a pack just too costly. The majority of smokers here will usually have a pouch of tobacco, a packet of cigarette paper, and a small sandwich bag of filters which, apparently, are inexpensive. As he lights up he sighs and begins

“Yeah, I think everybody will tell you that. No matter how long people have lived around here, that’s all they ever tell you. I really can’t argue with them, the people here really are just great. The Pakeha have never treated New Zealand as if it were just their property. Like in the States, where the story is about America being ‘discovered’ and then history began. Kiwis recognize that they bought the land from the Maori and treat them with respect. History books here will never tell you that white people discovered an island that had other people living on it for years. I think the idea of subordination never really took root in this country. I remember when I first got here my girlfriend showed me a photograph that just blew my mind. It was off this book about some of the recent Prime Ministers of New Zealand. I didn’t think much of the book but there was this photograph in it taken on the day the chauffeur for the Prime Minister celebrated something like twenty years of work. It showed him sitting on the hood of the car with the last six Prime Ministers standing on either side of him. I couldn’t believe that. The highest authorities in the land, with these opposing ideologies, had shown up just to congratulate their driver on twenty years of service. Could you imagine that in the United States? A photo of Clinton, Carter, Bush, George W, and Reagan standing together to celebrate the driver’s twentieth anniversary, it’s impossible. The guy over there would be lucky if he managed to last through one administration.” 

“The other part of the attitude towards the workers comes from New Zealanders recognizing that they need these people. These people are hired because they’ve been requested, and Kiwis think of them as active contributors to the nation. More importantly is the Kiwi attitude towards work. Your job is how you contribute to maintain your lifestyle, not the gateway to riches. I don’t show up to work here before 9:30 and am not allowed to put in more than 45 hours a week, legally. On Fridays a good portion of people take off from work an hour or two early if they can.”

A theory sprung to my mind that I had heard someone who had lived in several places that felt very convincing. He told me that people in the United States grow up having this incredible expanse of land with abundant resources. Besides making them so infamously insular they also become obsessed with asset propagation: they want to get the car, the house, the big ranch and they work hard and give themselves ulcers to achieve these goals. In countries where there’s a more limited supply of land, like Europe and New Zealand, the emphasis is on how best to use time rather than collecting assets. I think that’s very true here. Kiwis would rather spend less time at work if they can have a few more hours alone with their boat or meet their friends at a pub to catch the rugby game. In the summer evenings in Wellington people leave work and are all around the place. Taking tai-chi lessons on the grass in front of the parliament building, dance lessons right on the harbour, attending a performance of the Royal New Zealand Ballet or New Zealand Symphony orchestra, catching one of the myriad plays, or just eating out. Statistically Wellington is supposed to have the most restaurants per capita of anywhere in the world, but I’m not sure what that statistic is supposed to mean. A better way to put it would be that if you ate out at a different place every night you would only eat at the same place after more than a year. I should know, there were three Indian restaurants just on the street coming up to the harbour, and they all let you bring your own wine from home. The houses are just to keep the wind and cold out. The millionaires here have got their houses in the best part of town, as usual, but they’re not mansions. I’ve met people with bigger boats than houses.  Mike isn’t much different. Mike tells me that I’m not going to get it just sitting here drinking a cup of coffee. He takes down my particulars and advises me to keep my Sunday open.

That Sunday, when all I want to do is sleep, Mike comes barreling out to my house in his Toyota Rav4 with two kayaks strapped to his roof. “Sleep is for the good for nothing, you’re keeping an ocean waiting.” Before I can try to pull the sheets back over me I’m in the car going downtown. I try to remind that Mike Sunday is the day intended for rest but he just gives me, “Oh yeah, you’re going to sleep like a baby when this is done.” I’m wondering how the hell he’s affording a lifestyle frugal enough to purchase this magnificent 5 year old 4X4. “It’s a simple formula. Imagine the price I would have probably paid for this in the States in American dollars. OK now that exact number is how much it costs in New Zealand dollars.” I’m really not surprised anymore. I purchased a 1996 Nissan Bluebird which had only gone about 5,000 km for about $5,000 a month ago. It’s little wonder then that the only other country in the world that has more motor vehicles per capita than New Zealand is the United States. 

It’s difficult to find parking on a day like this. In mid-July winter is blowing Antarctic winds through Wellington and it feels like getting slapped in the face with a thin transparent sheath of ice. Today, however, the Sun decided to pay a visit and warm things up a bit. The area in front of the harbour is packed full of people walking, skating, fishing, and the water’s holding up dozens of sailboats, windsurfers and kayaks. After battling for a spot a little way down from the landing we have to trudge quite a ways to the water. When we get to the landing the sight of sun-kissed, clear blue water is beguiling. We both toss ourselves in with a little too much abandon as the cold waters seep into my suit. I don’t feel so great anymore, but as we catch up with a few more people I try to impress with my capabilities on the kayak, of which I have none. After a grueling half hour I think I’ve had enough when I stop suddenly and spy a billow of smoke coming out of the sea. The massive Arahura is paying a visit. The Arahura, Maori for “The Pathway to Dawn”, is one of the two gigantic ferry ships that transport cargo and passengers across the Cook Strait separating North and South Island. I’m wondering how big it is when Mike yells out, “Something like 150 metres long. There’s a ton of cars and people, and a whole train in that thing. Unbelievable, isn’t it? Today it’s probably bringing back the surfers and skiers from the South Island.” I began to reply with an eloquent, “you don’t say” when a blast of Antarctic wind hits me. This isn’t just any wind. In the winter, the Southerlies from Antarctica hit Wellington head on, without having made landfall. Wellington’s harbour, and lack of high land masses at the southern extreme, works akin to a gaping mouth swallowing all that air. On an especially windy day in 1968 the wind blew strong enough to push the almost new Wellington-Christchurch ferry Wahine onto Barrett’s reef just outside the harbour entrance. The boat worked itself loose, drifted into the harbour and then sank but not before the loss of 51 lives. The Museum of Wellington City & Sea has some dramatic images and models of the disaster. All right, so maybe the wind that smacked into me isn’t near as bad but after the first few tilts I completely lose my bearings. As I get flipped back around and leave reality behind Mike just keeps his eyes focused on the crossing ship, unaware of the water underneath him. 

I don’t know where that look comes from. The one on a face staring at something it would never hope to change. As the ship passed toward a lowering sun in a magenta and orange sky with the noise of people everywhere I knew I wanted to make this view familiar, one I could have at my will.  As soon as I worked the sea-sickness out of my system, of course. Mike swiveled around smoothly and dragged me back to shore. As we worked ourselves out of the kayaks, or dragged out in my case, Mike shook his head and fixed me with a stare. “We should probably wait for the summer before getting you back in the water. How about a trek around Mt. Victoria next weekend?” Nodding my head, I assented. Keeping my unstable feet on the ground seems a safer option now, even though, it appears I have already placed my dizzy head inside the Long Grey Cloud.

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