Young David

On Friday we left Napier to spend the weekend with friends in Taupo. Gayle fetched me from work, and we drove straight there. The petrol gauge was less than a quarter full, and so we both agreed that we needed to stop for fuel “soon”. We drove past a fuel station on the way out of Napier, but it was on the wrong side of the road, and it seemed like too much trouble to stop, turn around, and fill up. Thinking like South Africans, we thought “there’ll be another one along the way”.

40km into our trip, with the petrol light on, and the car starting to shudder going up hills, we still hadn’t found another petrol station. We whipped out Lola, our trusty GPS, asking her to “take us to the closest petrol station”. “Sure”, said Lola. “Turn around, and go 45km back to Napier”.

Clearly, this wasn’t an option, since we didn’t have enough fuel to get us another 45km back. Further investigation from Lola revealed that the next petrol station was about 70km ahead, in Taupo itself. We knew we’d make neither, so we decided to drive as far as we could, then either call for help, or leave the car, and hitchhike to get petrol.

Sure enough, about 10km later, our car ran out of fuel, ascending a hill. We managed to turn her around, and roll her down to a “picnic spot”, out of the way.

Turning on the cellphone, I tried to call our friends in Taupo…

No signal.

We tried Gayle’s phone, since mine can be tempermental…

No signal.

Well, we thought, we’ll just have to hitchhike. With handbag and laptops slung over our shoulders, we stood in the rain, bedraggled and alone, sticking our thumbs up in the air, trying to look disarming and friendly.

After about 5 minutes, a car pulled up, and the driver offered us a ride.
They were Czechs farmers, touring New Zealand. The father (unable to speak English and translating via his son) and son pair were driving to Hamilton (at speeds which would have earned them several NZ fines). They were unable to farm in the Czech winter, since ground temperature is roughly -5 degrees Celcius, so it’s common to spend the winter touring, or doing seasonal work. The son was hoping to get a job in Hastings, to pay his fare on a trip to the South Island in February.

After about 20km, we came across an old fashioned roadhouse, which advertised “Food, Petrol, Accommodation”. Thinking ourselves fortunate, we thanked our new friends, and they dropped us off in the car park.

We soon discovered, however, that the fuel pumps hadn’t been used in years, and we still didn’t have cellphone coverage. (Note the pig in the background)

So, after meeting the grizzled locals inside the roadhouse, we stood outside, on the verge of the highway, and resumed our hitchhiking. The sun was out by this time, and we admired the view as we waited for a ride.

After about 10 minutes, a gentleman named “Murray” picked us up. Murray was from Hastings, on his way to Rotorua, passing through Taupo, and offered us a ride. His final destination was actually Auckland, to watch the Police concert with his mates from Rotorua.

We finally arrived in Taupo (only getting cellphone signal about 10km out of town), settled down for dinner, and later went back with fuel to fetch our car.

The lessons I’ve learned from this experience:

• NZ is not like SA. There are not petrol stations everywhere. Fill up before you leave.
• There is no cellphone coverage in the mountains, and in some rural areas. Have a backup plan.
• I will pick up hitchhikers from now on.

This evening I had the privilege of meeting a true Kiwi Golden Girl. When our landlord originally suggested that we pop in to see our neighbor, an elderly widow, because it would be the “proper” thing to do, I have to admit to resenting it a bit.. I thought, “Gosh. We’ve got so much going on right now, I don’t feel like weighing down my schedule with the whims of an old lady..”

Well, after 2 glasses of very palatable wine, and about 7 tasty little chocolate balls, we’ve just returned from a wonderful hour at this sweet old lady’s house. Far from being an old bat, she’s an ex-broadcaster (which you’d easily pick up after a few minutes’ conversation with her), with a more than a lifetime of memories and experiences to share.
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In 17 days, we fly from South Africa to our new home in Napier, New Zealand. As we’ve been going through the process of packing up, closing up, and saying goodbye, I’ve been reflecting that emigrating is a bit like how I’ve always imagined dying would be…

We can’t take our possessions with us, so we give them away to loved ones

We’ve elected not to ship our remaining possessions (those which escaped the fire in March ’07) across the world, but rather to give the majority of our “stuff” away. We’re traveling with just what we can fit in our suitcases. Like dying, there’s a whole bunch of “stuff” which we simply can’t take with us, so we’ve been able to give it away to friends and family – appliances, utensils, equipment, etc. We hope that when use this “stuff”, they’ll think of us and remember us. Read the rest of this entry »

Paul Graham has a great article entitled “Stuff“. Well worth reading. It’s clear to me that we have far too much “material baggage” in our lives, as evidenced by the feeling of huge relief and freedom we experienced when all our possessions burned up in the boarding house fire of March this year.

Given our impending decision to immigrate, we’ve decided not to buy more stuff, but to live simply, eliminating the huge “drag” this baggage has on our lives.

Dear Shaik,

I’m sorry that we won’t get to see you tomorrow before we leave. Thank you so much for your letter, it really does mean a lot to me. You were the first person I engaged with upon arrival in Singapore, and you epitomized the warm and friendly reception we’ve received ever since then – you were approachable, always smiling and cracking jokes, and exuded a sense of confidence and trustworthiness.

I admit that I initially experienced some anxiety in leaving our bags and laptops (my life!) with you for the day, but don’t take it personally – that’s my South African, home-grown paranoia, thanks to our disastrously high crime rate. I wouldn’t even try it back home!

Our time in Singapore has been wonderful, thank you. We’ve enjoyed the local culture, fantastic public transportation system (We rode the MRT a lot today!), and especially the relaxed vibe. We leave tomorrow evening, and hope to spend the day at Sentosa.

I’d really like to keep in touch – my contact details are on this blog, or on my Facebook profile.

Take care,
David (and Gayle) Young

I spent two and a half hours this afternoon at the Randburg Department of Home Affairs, simply to collect my new temporary passport. As I walked in, I noticed the glossy poster on the wall, proudly displaying the department seal, and boldly proclaiming their vision: “Providing a world class service”

I wait for 15 minutes in the queue for the collections counter, and when I arrive at the front, I noticed a handwritten note on an A4 page, which said “Sorry… Computer’s are offline”. It looked as if it had been there for a while. I was told that my passport would be ready within 10 minutes, and pointed to a metal bench against the wall, to wait.

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My wife and I differ on our Facebook philosophies. Maybe it’s one of those gender-specific things. Her rule is “don’t befriend me unless you really want to talk to me“. She’s a woman. She wants to connect. To relate. To be more than a status icon on somebody’s hundreds-of-friends list.

My rule is “befriend me. Maybe we’ll even talk“. It’s a sad fact that my daily life is so crowded, with so many actions, inputs, and open loops, that unless I notice you on Twitter, IM, email, Facebook, or “RealLife” (probably in that order of update frequency!), we’re going to miss each other.

So, the big personal advantages of Facebook for me, is my newfound ability to keep in touch with friends near and far, with minimal effort. I’ve found old school buddies, family members, and new friends. I check that handy little mini-feed, and now I know that my cousin is traveling, a friend is immigrating to Switzerland, my sister started teaching again yesterday, and another friend is currently in Peru.

So, if I befriend you, but don’t engage you, I’m not “using” you, I’m “hanging out” with you, mostly in comfortable silence

My new friend Chris, who handled our insurance claim on the big appliances destroyed in the fire, dropped off our replacement washing machine today. When we spoke, he talked about sending his driver, and then due to timing, he ended up coming himself to drop it off. I pictured him arriving in a bakkie, or some form of delivery vehicle.

He arrived in a Nissan Micra. A tiny little car. With my washing machine fitting easily in the boot. An tiny, impressive little car…

My friends and family will tell you that I’m fairly sloppy when it comes to my car. I leave junk in the back seats, I have it washed far too infrequently, and I don’t get at all uptight when a passenger dings the door against the wall. (All three things, in my experience, are expected of men and their cars)

But, I’m extremely touchy when it comes to my laptop. My MacBook has a beautiful glossy screen, and I take pains to keep it clean. Although I can’t ever manage to get the white chassis completely clean, my MacBook at it’s worst is much cleaner than my car at it’s best.
I sat with a client the other day, showing him data on my screen. Every time he wanted to ask a question, or point out an issue, he touched my screen with his fingertip. I’ve got these greasy, smudgy finger marks all over my screen.

What should be the penalty for screen-touching? A parental slap on the hand, a gentle talking-to, or a peanut-butter flavored counter-attack?

Technorati Tags: peeves, fingers

This morning, I took a camcorder with me to do duty at the boarding house. I wanted to record impromptu messages from the boys to “Mr G“, my good friend and mentor who taught at the school for 4 years, before emigrating to New Zealand.

As soon as I whipped out the camcorder, the boys had the typical human reaction – they shied away, embarrassed and self-conscious. Come to think of it, I’d probably do the same, if somebody pointed a live video camera at me.

It all turned around, however, as soon as I mentioned that I wanted video messages for Mr G. Instead of fleeing the camera, the boys approached it with the same familiarity and friendliness they would have shown for the man himself.

I think it’s a measure of the boys’ trust and respect for this man, that they felt at ease in front of the camera, once they knew he’d be on the other end.