My first week in New Zealand was spent in the country’s biggest city: Auckland. At this point, I’m not sure how long I will be in New Zealand, but I am lucky enough to have a working holiday visa which means I can stay for up to a year and even work a few jobs in the process.
I spent most of my first week doing the things people do when they settle in to a new place: I searched for neighbourhoods and places to live, looked for jobs, and even opened a bank account (the thought of having a foreign bank account in an island nation sounds kind of risqué for a tax lawyer).
Going through this “settling-in” process makes me appreciate a big privilege I have in New Zealand: the ability to speak English. I see other travellers who struggle with the language and the barriers are much higher for these people.
This process also makes me think of my parents and grandparents and how it might’ve been for them as immigrants to Canada. My mom once told me about her trials trying to find work when she first got to Calgary. Seemingly qualified for various jobs, she was regularly turned down for work because of a lack of “Canadian experience,” as the interviewers would tell her. She told me that she finally lost it on a prospective employer (a major daily newspaper) because of the circular nature of this problem: how would she get “Canadian experience” if this employer, and others in Canada, refused to hire her for a lack of Canada-specific experience. For anyone who knows my mom, she is patient and polite to a fault, so this outburst was definitely out of character. Yet, it impressed the prospective “boss” who subsequently hired her and gave my mom her coveted opportunity to gain some Canadian experience.
Settling in Auckland also makes me think about the millions of refugees, Syrians or otherwise, who must be going through this type of a process somewhere in the word at this very moment. Clearly, their struggles are different as a result of being displaced against their will and in much more challenging circumstances. This experience provides me with another opportunity to be grateful.
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I know two people in this country: Mel and Shane. Mel spent half a year living with me (and two other roommates) in Montreal while she was on a work exchange programme. Shane is Mel’s husband. When Mel left Montreal to go back to New Zealand, she told all of us that we were invited to come visit her in New Zealand. I said I would, but more out of politeness than out of knowing I would actually be here someday.
When I told Mel I was looking to come to New Zealand several months ago, she instantly gave me a wealth of information about her home country. Mel was serious about welcoming me to New Zealand. So, after giving me a week to check out Auckland, she drove three hours from her home in Tauanga to pick me up, turn around, and drive three hours back (because she was “not letting” me take the bus!).
When we got to Tauranga, I made a new kiwi friend: her daughter, Zinnia (“kiwi” is a word for a person from New Zealand; the fruit is referred to as “kiwifruit” here).
Impermanent Establishments 