A week in the North

It's funny how culture shock hits you when you are least expecting it, but I guess the hint should be in the "shock" part of the phrase…

If I believed in signs, I should've had an inkling from the mornings attempt at bomb defusal at Kings Cross.  Well not really, but it certainly felt like it as when I typed in my ticket reference code and it didn't work.  Starting a count down of 15 mins to try and sort it out and get on the train.  I must've looked rather odd camped on the floor with my bag open trying to connect both of my laptops to my iphone hotspot, in a desperate attempt to find the reference code somewhere in my work mail.  I'm sad to say had it been a real bomb defusal I would've been blown up.

On the other end, half an hour later than expected, I got into a taxi at Leeds train station.  Hoping the distinct odour of booze and cigarettes was due to the previous occupant and not the driver, I tried to start up a conversation.  From my previous experience up north I've always found the people to be very friendly and talkative. One supermarket attendant once exclaimed over my purchase of wasabi peas,  "What are these?",  "Oh are they any good?", another told me about his weekly martial arts class.  However this driver didn't seem in the mood to partake. At first I thought he was finding it hard to hear me due to the large plastic "driver protection" barrier surrounding his seat,  but I discovered, when I had to ask for the receipt 5 times, the problem was more that he didn't understand my antipodean version of English!

Walking into Morrisons was my next shock.  Happy to find that, although the office was in the middle of nowhere, the interior was actually quite open and sunny.  This was quickly overtaken by the shock of seeing a sea of blue and grey of literally thousands of people dressed in suits quietly beavering away, not talking to each other.  I later discovered the office was purposely designed in the layout of a shopping mall, so it could be easily sold if Morrisons was to go under.   My first task, from my desk, in the corridor, with a view of a wall which is adorned with a picture of a giant chilli,  was to fill in a document full of check boxes, assuring them that my desk was at the right level and that I would not partake in chain mail over the internet.  I must say the tune "Run run as fast as you can!  You can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man" started to cycle in my head. 

As the week's worn on I've got used to the suits, the 10 year old technology, the security checks that wouldn't stop a kindergarten kid from infiltrating the building, and an IT help desk that can't fix anything.  All stuff I've seen before, and unfortunately is still not uncommon in the UK. But the nightlife is not much more inspiring! We are staying in a suburb called Shipley, in which our serviced apartment complex, really just a large cluster of modern looking buildings, is a local highlight!  The Fagley taxi driver, yes that's right there is a suburb is called "Fagley", one to challenge the infamous Whakatane (Fuck-a-ta-ne) in NZ, was amazed.  Driving into the complex he exclaimed "Wow!  Wow so big!".  And this was only the beginning of a chorus of  "Wows" as he drove through to the building we were in.

Not being impressed by my colleagues form of night time entertainment, a sandwich and an evening working on his calculator app,  I am going to run!  To Leeds at least.  

Roll on next week.   Leeds I hope you have more to offer to keep me sane.

Shipley Highstreet

Sometimes the everyday can be wondrous..

A strange thing happened when I went for a walk today, on the sunny street I found the keys to the kingdom of Islington. It started as all good adventures should and chicken jokes do, with the intention to go across the road.

Having just returned from New Zealand, I managed to rouse myself from my jet lagged haze at the respectable hour of midday.  Starving I threw on some clothes to go across the road to buy the first edible thing I could find at the Sainsbury Local.  But stepping outside I discovered the sun was shining.. this changed my intentions, I could venture the few doors down to a shop I needed to go to as well. But as the sun shined on me some more, and by some miracle I realised I wasn't cold walking around London, without a coat, in March, I decided I didn't have to eat Sainsbury food after all!  I could make it to the cafe at the end of the road!

It was here, while sitting, being overly pretentious wearing my sunglasses inside, the pretentiousness I felt was warranted given I hadn't even washed let alone put on makeup, and being ecstatically happy with the sunshine and my breakfast that was taking up the whole table, that I found the keys.

They came in the form of a little guide to Islington, the last one left.  Recognising many places as places I loved, I was excited to see that I did not know most on the list.  As the sunniness had exceeded, even my overly optimistic expectations, I decided to test the keys and venture far into Holloway to find Outpost, which promised to be "a not-for-profit decor shop, and arts and community hub".  Turns out it is run by a housing organisation, that helps the homeless.  A lot of the crafts and exhibitions are from people who are/have been homeless or involved in this cause.  I liked what I saw so much that I bought half the shop, ok an exaggeration, and asked if I could volunteer!  Apparently this was perfect timing for this question, as the woman running the store said she was just finishing up writing a volunteer job description.  She seemed so enthusiastic, she even asked what holidays I had coming up!  Seems these keys are the real deal.  Evidenced further when I later visited, Meek and Wild Fishmongers, also on the list, and as they were closing and I had no cash, gave me the fish on an IOU!

On the way back, excited to take some pictures with my new kaleidoscope that was part of my loot, I have a weird thing for kaleidoscopes, I found one of those loopholes that lets Londoners talk to each other, see below.

Sometimes the everyday can be wondrous!

  

On Island Time - Would you ever go back?

Years ago, before I left NZ shores, a friend returned for a holiday from her new life in England.  It was her first trip back and she said she was surprised at how "quaint" NZ seemed.  Quaint!  I was very offended, what do you mean my life is quaint??  After all I was well educated, I had a good job, I was living in the inner city, of the biggest city nonetheless!

Years later, after having lived overseas for 6 years now, I'm loathe to admit I kind of know what she means.  Its not exactly that I think NZ is quaint, I still wouldn't choose that word, but it does strike me as very much an island, on island time.  Even in the parts of town that I used to see as posh, I feel out of place in my London clothes amongst the sea of t-shirts, jandals, and slacks! Standing out like a sore thumb in my own country, it's hard not to think about the question that everyone eternally asks you about NZ,  "Would you go back?"  And as you stay away for longer, "Would you ever go back?"  I'm not sure I'm ready to answer that question, but its hard not to weigh the pros and cons.  

Despite my initial shock when I returned home for the first time after 3 years, that all the buildings looked quite flat and industrial, you'd have to morbidly depressed not to notice how pretty the country is.  I think, even if you put aside the fact that everything looks better in the sunshine, it is stunningly beautiful. And, I must admit, it's much nicer to look out on green hills and trees listening to the sound of a dog barking and sheep baaing than the constant chorus of sirens and vista of grey rooftops that you get on a London street.   Plus everyone wandering around in their shorts and jandals in the sunshine does seem very chilled out, and friendly.  Certainly being relaxed is a benefit not to be undervalued!

Still it surprised me to hear from some friends who have moved back saying how Kiwis aren't really as friendly and laid back as our reputation proposes.  In truth its not the first time I've heard this story, a Turkish guy I dated for a while while back in NZ for a summer, also complained about how unfriendly, and he added, racist, Kiwis were.  Maybe its the sunshine in my eyes, but I think this is more of a universal story of moving country when you're older.  People have jobs, families, well established friend groups and well, simply less time to go out and socialize with random people. I must say I had numerous friendly interactions with strangers while back.  Conversations with train attendants concerned that I was wasting my money not buying the travel card, especially as I was going all the way to Pukekohe!  A guy at the airport wanting to know who was picking us up, helpfully pointing out if it wasn't a taxi we were in the wrong place. The woman on the plane, whom seeing I was clearly in pain due to my ears, offered me lots of helpful advice.  A random guy joining in on the conversation I was having with my friend about my love woes, "The guy's just a bit stupid", he said.  Actually unfortunately I think it might be me who's being a bit stupid/niave.    

One thing that has struck me on this trip back, though, is that NZers can be quite assertive even a little aggressive.  A number of times on the train people have not had tickets and have refused to get off, we have no gates stopping you from just walking on the train.  I was impressed to see how many others on the train have chimed in and hassled the person in question.  Not that it worked, but had this been London everyone's eyes would be securely looking at the floor.  On one occasion though, a young lad had decided to start smoking on the train, when cries of "Put out the smoke mate!", fell on deaf ears, an older Maori guy really got annoyed.  Standing up, cursing him, he threatened to take him on in a fight! The young guy, either out of some sort of strange respect, or possibly a bit threatened by the size differential, which he may have weighed up as overcoming any benefit youth would give him, cursing back announced he was getting off at this stop anyway.  I'm in two minds about if the old man went too far, after all nothing happened.  But I certainly was shocked by what some undesirables shouted at me on K-Rd after ignoring their cries for attention, "I hope you get raped" was their parting greeting to me.  Charming NZ!

So what's my answer?  Would I ever?   The truth is I don't know, for now at least I think I'm just content to  blow where life takes me.