The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Given the state that most of you are in, now a week post-Stampede and the time lag since the last update, I thought I’d provide something quick.  So far our experiences have been great and can be reflected in the following lists.  If it helps, hum (or download and play) Ennio Morricone’s tune that became the spaghetti western theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

The Good

1. The climate.  The weather here is tracking the Calgary weather almost to the degree.  While it is more humid here, it’s lovely and the dead of winter.
2. Winter.  Low temperatures of 6-8 C; flowering plants; walking to work in sandals, shorts and a light long sleeved shirt, MC Hammer couldn’t touch this.
3. No sign of mini-van driving soccer Moms with acid washed “Mom Jeans”. 
4. A 12 oz. coffee that costs $4 is a bargain.  The coffee is that good.  No joke.
5. The sky.  First, understand that I’m a Calgary kid and never imagined living anywhere other than southern Alberta.  Until now.  The sky here provides a constant source of wonder, comment and awe.  Walking home the sunsets are vibrant, dynamic and exceed my imagination, almost daily.  Nicole has been running in the morning and claims the same for the sunrise.  During the day the sky is so blue that we’re left discussing it daily.  I keep wanting to refer to the blueness of the sky as “unbelievable”, “improbable” or “impossible” but it day after day, it’s the same, so the adjectives don’t apply.  Unfathomable isn’t the right word, but it’s the best that I can do.  Remember the part of City of Angels, where the angels go to the beach to listen to the sunrise?  The sky here, is almost that good.
6. The traffic.  I saw the first road rage incident since we’ve been here.  I driver honking and honking and honking.  Not screaming.  Not threatening violence.  Just honking.  Someone called out “Go back to Victoria” (another state).  Turns out the car actually had Victoria plates.
7. The restaurants are excellent.  There is no shortage of good restaurants ranging from local take-away (take out) to fine dining.  In fact, there is still a handful within a few blocks of our home that we haven’t tried.  Most of the restaurants accommodate children, in various forms, regardless of how “up-market” the restaurant is.  Having said that our daughter is remarkably well behaved, except when she’s Nicole’s daughter.
8. The weekly ritual of meeting other families at the local markets to let the kids play while one shops for the week’s produce.
9. Tasting notes for local sparkling wine, detail “subtle hints of vegemite”.  Don’t read this to mean that I like vegemite in my sparkling wine, I just like that this is how the wine is described.
10. Short skirts.

The Bad

1. $4 Coffee, even if it’s that good, it’s still pricy.
2. Cured meats.  We haven’t resolved what the issue is, but the cured meats don’t accord with our palettes.  There is a taste that seems visceral, either the presence of blood or a higher fat content than we’re used to.  Shame. 
3. Litter.  There seems to be more litter than I was used to in Calgary, perhaps because Calgary is windier in Calgary, or perhaps there’s just people that pick it up.  Here bottles will stay in the curb for days if not weeks.  By contrast, in Calgary, the homeless will clear them up before you turn around.
4. Trying to understand the slang and local vernacular.  One day I asked what Spencer had at day-care for lunch, I was informed “pikelets”.  “Oh, ok, what are ‘pikelets’”  “More than one pikelet”.  Really?  At any rate, I couldn’t manage an explanation, so the old stand-by Wikipedia identified them for me as “American style pancakes”.  So, to understand what our daughter is eating, we need a translator.  Fantastic.  This is just the beginning of so, so much….
5. Prices.  Things are expensive.  Dining is pricy, but consumer goods are particularly pricy and most of the time we’re better off buying clothes or formula for Spencer in North America and then arranging for it to be shipped.
6. Bad service.  There is no tipping (because minimum wage is $534.78/week (roughly $14.31/hr) so waiters are typically disinclined to be attentive.  Further, there is a different perception in roles.  I was advised today by the girl at the street based coffee cart that she’s in the “hospitality” industry.  The coffee is good, she seemed nice, but “hospitality”, I think we’re reaching.
7. Life is real.  We live here and being here isn’t a holiday.  We have to go to work, buy groceries, change diapers and do laundry.  I’m sure this pains you all and you’ll set up a fund for us, but Australia has warm weather and beaches, which should be consistent with holidays.  We’ve been to the beach twice in the four months we’ve been here.  Did I mention that we’re not really on holiday??
8. We miss friends and family.  We miss the weddings, the coffees and drinks, the graduations, BBQ’s, dinners and being part of daily lives.
9. The trials and tribulations of trying to get qualified as a lawyer here.  By the end of this I will either be admitted to the Law Society or admitted into a psychotherapy in-patient program.  If it’s the later, I’ll ask you not to stare at the scar on my forehead. 

I was recently advised that my application was incomplete inter alia because two copies of my resume are required, because there were two separate forms as part of the application process.  Notwithstanding that a copy was sent, notwithstanding that I’ve paid $400 and notwithstanding that I have to send documents out of state, it’s easier for the law society to set the application aside until I send another copy then it is to make a copy themselves. 

,

Further, copies of original documents must be notarized, and not merely certified by a lawyer as true copies.  Complicating matters is that lawyers are not Notaries as they are in Canada, and actually finding a Notary is like hen’s teeth.  Some of the larger law firms only have 1 or 2 in their offices (so I’m told).  In fact in Queensland the notary office continues to be appointed by the Court of Faculties in England under the guidance of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

I understand that there has been an unprecedented rash of people trying to pretend to be Albertan lawyers, especially with my name.  Perhaps this is true.  Scary if it is.

10. Short skirts.

The Ugly

1. Bugs.  Large, tenacious, voracious.  Not the way I like to describe things that make my skin crawl.  Because things grow all year around, they get big, they don’t go away and they’re creepy.  Yuck.
2. Homelessness.  The people that are homeless here seem to have less support than in Calgary (probably because they won’t freeze).  They’re also more aggressive.  We were followed for a block a couple of weeks ago, by 3 or 4 wired aboriginals, being peppered with pleas for cigarettes and cash.  When their taunts started to involve Spencer that was enough, and our response quickly backed them down and they then gave us the space we wanted.
3. Feeling cold and damp at nights and in the mornings.  Yeah, it’s embarrassing to admit that we’re here and we feel cold.  While I laugh at people that talk about the current conditions as “cold”, or “too cold to camp” (at 6 C), the fact is that we feel cold here and can’t seem to get our brains around it.  I should have brought more sweaters and long sleeved shirts. 
4. Winter colds.  Of course it’s Spencer’s fault, being at day-care, but we’ve all had “winter colds” that have endured for over 2 weeks now.  Bummer. 
5. Ford Falcon Ute.  First things first, the “Ute” is like a little truck; not a light truck like one is used to in Alberta, like the older Mazda’s and Toyota, but a little pickup, usually with a flatbed.  Further, “Ute” is the shortened version of “Utility” as far as I can tell, rather than “Uterus” like I had initially thought because, it seemed like a derogatory term for where a baby would be kept, which was in line with the lexigraphic rules that I’ve managed to learn since I’ve been here.  “Baby truck, baby in a truck, baby is safe and carried in (or actually near) the uterus, everything has either a slang name or is shortened, ergo Ute”  At any rate, think Chev El Camino and you get the modern day Ford Falcon Ute.  There is really no reason for anyone to be driving this atrocity that isn’t either running afoul of INS in Southern California or playing indoor ball hockey in the 70’s at Glenmore Park.  Terrible.  However, the alarming popularity of the Falcon Ute (undoubtedly, the result of some type of Bernie Madoff marketing shenanigans) perhaps explains why the Aussies export wine with penguins on the label to North America.  I wish we could all just get along.
6. Vegemite
7. Vegemite
8. Vegemite
9. Vegemite
10. Short skirts.

Our First Winter

According to the local radio, June 1 marks the start of winter.  Ah yes, winter the lamentable burden that we’ve had to face “back-to-back winters” in leaving Calgary in February.  It’s ok; I can hear your eyes rolling from here.  But as everything here, it is in fact different.  For instance take the following weather report (taken without permission, but for non-commercial purposes):

Snow season with reach

Sam Terry, Wednesday June 2, 2010 - 17:13 EST

It's now less than two weeks before the snow season begins and excitement is building. But what can we expect?

Snowfall activity is going to be virtually non-existent for the next seven days as a broad high-pressure ridge prevents cold fronts from pushing north.

The only chance for snow will be late on Sunday as cooler southerly winds filter in over the Victorian alps, bringing snow flurries overnight down to 1400 metres. However, snowfalls are not expected to penetrate any further north than Hotham.

The second week of the forecast period is looking a lot more favourable (in terms of widespread snow) on both the NSW and VIC Alps. Longer-range models are indicating cooler air reaching further north for a prolonged period of time, allowing snow-bearing systems like cold fronts or cut-off lows to deliver the goods.

The best chance for snow is on the 9th or 10th. However, there is still a large portion of uncertainty with this as models are in some disagreement.

The winter outlook is not looking grand. Indications are that this winter should be warmer than average, and near-average for rainfall. Keep checking weatherzone.com.au. for the updated snow forecast every morning.

- Weatherzone

© Weatherzone 2010

Before going to far, I must admit, that I’ve been oft tempted to comment to Aussies that I’m from a place were winter is real, people freeze and snow actually is a real issue.  However, every time I’m inclined, I pause remembering a former colleague who expressed his bravado during a Mt. bike ride in the American south.  Here was a nice, middle class kid from Calgary, raised in Lakeview, who had been transferred to Mississippi to work for QC Data, telling people that he was from “somewhere that put the ‘mountain’ into Mt. biking”.  This well articulated bravado was before he got lost for hours, keeping him out in the darkened woods crossing creeks with alligators in them.  Really, alligators.  A fact he was warned over while crossing such a creek by a disbelieving local.  "Ain't you 'fraid of them 'gators in them waters?" Since that experience, regardless what his learning’s may or may not have been, I’ve been contrite in my opinions whilst abroad.

So, we had been told that Brisbane gets cold come winter, so we curiously awaited the experience.  As it turns out, and as ashamed as I am to admit, we have been cold.  Really, Brisbane’s winters turn “not warm” rather than cold as we would understand cold.  There is no frost, no snow (except in the majestic Victorian Alps at the dizzying elevations of 1400m – the Calgary International Airport is at 1083 m, incidentally) and no (real) wind chill.  So, what is the cold?  Well, it’s really like I’ve said, “not warm”, but given that the homes generally don’t have heat, nor insulation things cool off.  Actually they cool off significantly.  We’ve taken to purchase two space heaters, which now run most of the time that we’re home.  The heaters run primarily so that we can sleep comfortably, our daughter doesn’t continue to fight off the battery of colds that she’s been exposed to at day care and so that we can walk around in shorts and t-shirts, because “we’re in Australia now”.  Right.  Australia means you get to dress like an idiot.  Better yet, the locals here say, “You’re from Canada, you can’t be cold.”  “Right mate, I’m not cold, I’m just ‘not warm’.  By the way, mate, speaking of not too hot, how did the Socceroos fair against Germany in their opening World Cup match?”

Actually that’s really the point to the “not warm” here, is that people don’t adjust their habits or dress.  Like Spring and Fall in Canada, generally, people still cling to the idea that the weather is better than it is, and try to impose their will upon the ambient temperatures.  Again, much like Canada, it doesn’t matter how many people run along the paths without shirts or exposed midrifs, it simply doesn’t get any warmer. 

Having said that, the weather now is lovely.  Mid-afternoon (arvo) has that warm caramel sensation where a light long sleeve shirt is a touch too much, but comfortable all the same.  The sun is low in the sky making you alternate squinting and drinking in the soft light that sets the city aglow and casts long shadows.  Like the autumn day in Albertan mountains that is anchored to the heat of August, the air feels good but reminds you with a hint of coolness, that there is a change coming.  Thankfully, the change here isn’t sub-zero, snow and icy roads. 

Moving / Removing Day

Initially Nicole and I started sending dispatches or periodic updates by email back to our friends and family who were back in Canada and the USA.  These were stochastic at best, and often ambitiously tried to distill a number of experiences into correspondence that people would actually read with interest during their busy lives.  The fact remained that we had left Canada.  We had left our friends and family, all of whom kept on running their busy lives independent of any adventure that we might have embarked upon.  Further, these same friends and family carried on their lives all the while perceiving that we had left the frozen wasteland of The Great White North (Canada) for the last vestige of the Garden of Eden that is Queensland.  We did very little in our updates back to Canada to dispel this belief. 

During this time, my muse seemed to be on a hiatus that often was only interrupted by long runs or copious amounts of wine.  Unfortunately, while effective in rousing the muse, neither were particularly conducive to getting my brilliant ideas down in written form.  However, as life became more organized my updates, became more event inspired, but still issued randomly, which according to some became part of their charm.  These events included National holidays, local shenanigans and notable happenings in our lives.

One such notable episode occurred early in May.  The 7^th of May, occurring here at the same time that every Mexican in the Western Hemisphere was coming out of their Cinco de Mayo hangover, was the glorious day when our possessions that were shipped from Canada finally arrived.  So to provide the proper context, for the period of 15 March to 7 May, we lived with rented furniture, rented bedding, rented dishes, rented cups, rented cutlery, rented cooking implements and, to my great chagrin, rented knives.  So the arrival of our personal possessions was something that had been longed for with the same baited breath of a returning lover who had been absent for months. 

What started off with pitched excitement and a festive feeling, eclipsing the anticipation of Christmas, soon gave way to the tedium of opening box after box after box that contained all the surprise of a wooden Russian doll.  The actual delivery of our goods had to be scheduled with the removal of our rental furniture and kitchen wares, so the day itself was expected  to be busy with two separate work crews (and I) in a 1000 sq ft apartment.  As you (or at least Murphy (of Murphy's Law notoriety) would expect, the crew to deliver our contents arrived before the crew to remove the rentals.  So I had the pleasure of playing a very unhappy life sized game of Tetris inside our home.  

I must admit that the crews were great.  Friendly; generally proficient, and happy to accommodate most of my instruction.  All of the crewmembers introduced themselves to me and shook my hand prior to starting.  One of the delivery guys (A.J.) was thrilled that I came from Canada as he has plans to travel to Canada, "in a couple of years...when he's 21".  It was amazing to talk about anything to someone who was 19 years old.  A.J. had some real gems to share; gems that only 19 years of wisdom could lay claim to.   

"I'm not worried about the cold in Canada, mate; I'm from Tassie (Tasmania) and it gets pretty cold there."  Right.  Compared to Queensland, Tasmania is colder.  Fair enough.  However, Tasmania also still boasts all year agricultural activities, whereby comparison Alberta has glaciers, which as we know is all year ice.  Not really the same: you'll need more than a "jumper" to "rug up" mate.  

"Hey, mate, I've been doing this for 10 years,"  A.J. reassured me of his professionalism by stating with considerable authority. OK, great, you've been doing exactly what for 10 years, chewing gum while you talk to people?  You just told me that you're 19. "Yeah well I've sort of helped my step-dad out for a long time..."  Nice to see that bravado is universal.  

Admittedly, A.J. for all of his bravado and his wealth of experience packed into his 160cm (5’ 4”) and 50kg (110 lbs) stature he worked hard and efficiently.  I would put that kid to work on any job site.  I suppose it also helped the overall effect because he caused a laugh every time he opened his mouth, which was frequent enough. 

The crews were good and well spirited, always ready for a laugh and working steadily away.  We managed to get on well, I offered them cold cokes and water and they took my direction placing things in the designated rooms or outside on one of the three patios that we had.  Three patios, you ask?  Hey, baby we’re in Australia now, we’ve got to have outdoor space.  The cokes and water were good but the big reward for the boys (groups of guys here, whether they are on a team, if they’re working or standing around a water cooler are referred to as “boys”) was at the end of the move. 

Part of the relocation service coming from Canada was that a crew would attend at our home in Calgary and pack all the contents that we were taking.  These guys were also efficient.  So efficient in fact that they packed and loaded copies of files that I had brought home to work on and my access card to the law firm, for which I had to provide the firm with an undertaking that I would destroy both upon my reuniting with it in Australia.  You know, in case I wanted to come back to Canada unannounced and wander the halls of a law firm. 

Because of the logistics involved in transporting goods overseas, requiring truck, rail, ocean and truck again modes, all the contents were wrapped in paper and bubble wrap and then placed in boxes.  So between the various wraps and boxes there was a tonne of paper left over at the end of move that needed to be disposed of.  Fortunately the removal of the packing materials was also part of the deal.  However, I now had the problem having three removalists wanting to rush with empty boxes through a small but partially unpacked home in order to take the packing materials away.  This was further complicated by the fact that we were on the third floor and the boys would have to load and unload the elvator (“lift”), that was until I was struck by inspiration.  “Ok boys, just bring all the boxes to this patio and then throw them over to your mate.”  The crew just stared at each other thinking I was “taking a piss” with them, until I called out to the guy below and started throwing the boxes in to the alley.  Genius in its simplicity, the boxes were light, even if full of used packing paper, and then harmlessly bounced down into the alley adjacent to where the truck was parked.  Buddy on the bottom, could just pick them up and toss them into the truck.  Soon the boys were tossing boxes off the balcony like luggage handlers at LAX.  Unfortunately, the guy on the bottom wasn’t happy with this arrangement because as cool as it was to look up and see in raining cardboard boxes, he wasn’t getting to “have a toss” (I tried to explain that, at least in Canada, that expression has another meaning, but I wasn’t to be heard)  “You know mate, every one loves a good toss.”  Right, I didn’t shake his hand when we said good bye.  

All in all, the rental items were returned and our possessions were delivered without incident.  The exceptions were that our sofa didn't fit into our unit due to a function of building code differences.  In Canada, it is standard to require no less than 1.4m (4 feet) for egress (fire code).  The noted exception to this is at least one of the law firms that I worked at, where the standard corridor is choked with file boxes and the like allowing about ½ m (18 inches) of passage.   This also, perhaps, explains why the more “established” partners don’t venture down corridors but rather send their starving associates scurrying along to find a specific file, or brief, or piece of evidence that “must be in one of those boxes”. 

The phrase “fool’s errand” comes to mind, but I’m sure the reference is to “having sent a fool”, I’ve certainly felt that way returning to the instructed lawyer empty handed.  At any rate, regarding egress; as far as I know there has never been a story of someone running into a burning building to save a lawyer.  Perhaps there is an obvious reason for this, and perhaps an even more obvious joke, but I suspect that lawyers, with their view of risk are well out of the building (and safely relocated to the library at the Courts so that they can continue to work, and more importantly, bill) at the first sign of trouble and so egress statutes are for the rest of society. 

In Australia our corridor is closer to 0.9 m (3 feet), which in addition to frustrating file storage, operates to prevent a large curved sofa from gaining entry to our home.  That is unless we wanted to rent a crane or cherry picker to convey the piece up to our third floor unit and then through the sliding doors off of the balcony.  Hmmmm.  While the image of a 19-year-old kid with 10 years of experience operating a crane in a busy alley might make for good YouTube entertainment we opted to store the sofa for six months and forego the Australian version of the Three Stooges chasing each other, (and A.J.) with cherry pickers, hi-boys and fork lifts.  I suppose that rather than subscribing to cable television (FoxTel is the local service) we could have sat on the sofa and watched the drama and saved both on the television and the rental; in my mind’s eye it would have been like the Three Stooges but directed by Quentin Tarantino.

The other catch in the otherwise smoothly functioning machine, that was our relocation experience, involved a couple of our more coveted appliances.  Originally, we were told that as long as we had proper plug converters our appliances would be fine in Australia, notwithstanding that North America runs 120v and Australia runs 240v for domestic equipment (with the exception of refrigerators and other large appliances in Canada that require 240v).  First of all, plug converters are small devices that trick the North American plug into thinking that they are safely back in the Northern Hemisphere where they can functions safely while enjoying a drive on the proper side of the road and not being scared of snakes, rather than simply in a prosthetic that allows the non-compatible plug, into the gilded trough of sweet current that nourishes our appliances voracious appetite for electricity. 

Putting this advice to the test, we plugged in a floor lamp, which greeted us with a warm glow of light that promised us evenings of reading, visiting or enjoying the luxury of seeing what you were eating.  Unfortunately, this welcome was short lived and with a resounding "pop" the bulb and internal wiring blew apart.  Impressive, to be sure, but also short lived.  Much like silly school girls on a sugar high, Nicole and I laughed and giggled for a few short moments and then fell silent when we realized that we were in the dark until the shops opened again the following day and we could replace the lamp.  Leaving our dreams lost in the dark of our apartment.  Fortunately despair was staved off with wine and the fact that we could keep the windows and patio doors open to enjoy the velvety warm night.  In some ways this was better as the bugs, which are super creepy for a kid that grew up in the mountains of Canada, where most things die when the temperature reaches zero C (an occurrence generally observed 8 months a year) don’t come in as there’s no light to attract them.  But then hearing the bats scream to eat the bugs….well it quickly because the Australian version of the children’s song, “I knew an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don’t know why she swallowed a fly…she swallowed a spider to catch the fly…” But I digress.  Yes, sad about no light, but drinking wine in the warm dark is not without it’s charm.

Compared to the floor lamp, our experience with the toaster was far more spectacular.  Saturday morning, in answer to Spencer's crescendoing baby robin cry  of "toast, toast, toast, toast" Nicole attempted to make toast, an easy enough task, even for someone with my culinary expertise.  Notwithstanding that toast is a simple task for Nicole, our circumstances betrayed us.  The toaster opened with a whirring noise, started to glow and then ended its functional life with the sickly pop of a dropped rotten egg.  Just as powerful as the scent of warm toast wafting through the morning is, so to was the acrid odour of a small electrical fire hung in our kitchen.  Our plans had changed.  Again.  Changing plans is usually easy enough but with Spencer baying “toast, toast, toast, toast", an appliance on fire and stares of shock and disbelief, Nicole and I had to think fast. 

Spencer is blessed with Nicole’s dedication and cursed with my stubbornness, which makes her as flexible as granite in most instances.  Fortunately, Spencer also has Nicole’s gracious spirit and my penchant for rapid gratification, which is to say that she can sometimes be easily distracted to lower hanging fruit if we can make it appealing enough.  In this case, we convinced her that koalas eat porridge and that she might like to as well.  Shamefully, we (and truly I mean, me) actually only convinced Spencer that koalas don’t eat toast, and as the corollary, porridge was a viable option as I could boil the water on the stove. 

So as Spencer made due with porridge, the toaster was sent on its way to a modern art exhibit.  This was all so terribly disappointing; having dreamt of my morning commencing with the scent of the invigorating fragrance and sight of the velvety crema from my morning espresso for the first time since leaving Canada, I woke instead to the smell of appliances burning themselves out from the inside and despair.  When I told Nicole that it was acrid smoke that was making my eyes water, she graciously pretended to believe me.

Still unconvinced that our appliances wouldn't work here, we tried a couple of the other smaller appliances, you know, just to be sure.   With an attitude that was becoming increasingly curious and intrepid I turned my attentions to the electric eggbeater.  The premise was simple, no one was going to pay to have this item shipped back to Canada, it was inexpensive to replace and the power draw shouldn't be significant.  Not that I had any empirical basis upon which to draw the last conclusion but I had consumed a lot of coffee by that time and was perhaps a little bit bored.  The result was spectacular.  In fact had I known how this was going to turn out I would have brought more beaters over from Canada and waited for Nicole to get home from work to show her.  Within five seconds of engaging the motor on the beater I had converted a small kitchen appliance into a one-use short-range taser.  Awesome.  Actually it was a sight to behold.  To Nicole's credit, she thought that this was mildly amusing, but I think secretly she was glad that our daughter was in day care on a full time basis.

We explored various workarounds to this “minor” electrical problem.  One was to purchase a transformer.  These are devices that safely convert voltage from the unsuitable voltage to that which is suitable for the appliances.  In our case, each transformer would cost us ~$300 and occupy the area of a toaster on our counter, but weigh as much as a small anvil (because everyone really should have their own small anvil around, and more so on their kitchen counter).  In addition, each appliance that operated on different amps would require it's own transformer.  So, we'd need three to start.  Unfortunately, we didn't have the counter space to transform our kitchen into a blacksmith’s shop and worse, they're as ugly as sin (the marrying your cousin kind of sin, not the fun sins like, well, you know) all for the bargain price of about $1000.

We also explored re-wiring the appliances, which actually requires a new motor to be installed; not a viable option, as the price quoted was higher than the additional transformers or new appliances.  Oddly, we found one electrician (referred to as “Sparkies” here) who would be willing to attend at our apartment and simply install new wall outlets that would accommodate the Canadian plug, without changing the electricity that flowed through them!!  I could smell the electrical fire over the phone. Perhaps this was another 19-year-old professional, with 10 years experience.  It would seem that Sparkies derive their moniker from the fires that they leave in their wake, rather than simply just their ability to play with wires. Not sure that our landlord would be the happy kind of excited about this option, but perhaps we'd be ok, because we have insurance.....maybe the Sparkie will do my lobotomy at the same time.  Electroshock therapy might be more of his thing. Yeah, good ideas flowing like a torrent.  Maybe, after a few drinks, I could convince the Sparkie to lower his price, but then he may commence the work in that same inebriated state too. 

Anyways, at the end of the day, we offered to have a few items shipped back to Canada to anyone who was willing to give them a good home and pay the shipping.  On offer was a Breville Espresso machine (that ran about $600 Cdn new at Williams Sonoma), a KitchenAid food processor (also roughly $600 Cdn new), a cordless drill and other small appliances.  There were also a few lamps and what not, that were not worth the shipping, unless someone desperately wanted them for sentimental reasons. Right, that just wasn’t going to happen.

Oddly we had someone suggest that we keep the drill because if its cordless then it doesn’t have to be plugged and shouldn’t have the same problem.  I only had to count to 5 before they caught the mistake.

As it turned out there was some interest in the coffee machine.  However, because it was a cast piece, the size of the engine block on a small motorbike, the shipping was about $200 AUD.  But still, this seemed like a good idea to the parties, since it was still less than the machine would cost new.  Really isn’t all about the value.  Isn’t it?  Well, it turns out that the joke was on us.  Upon arrival in Canada, the espresso machine was classified by Canada Post as “new”, rather than “used” or a “gift” as disclosed on the customs declaration and thus levied a duty in the amount of $175 Cdn.  So, in what was beginning to resemble a Sienfeld episode, the recipient paid the duty (as good Canadians who are anxious for a caffeine fix are wont to do) thinking that we had shipped it COD.  The result was a Kafkaesque dialogue with Canada Post and the Canada Revenue Agency whereby refunds couldn’t be issued, appeals couldn’t be launched or basic questions answered as each agency claimed that it was the other agency’s responsibility.  Even worse, it was not clear who had the right of inquiry, the consingee or the consignor.  So, again in good Canadian fashion, we agreed to ignore it, take the additional loss and pay a tax that seemed both unfair and arbitrary.  I now understand why the Malatov Cocktail is the preferred form of political expression in some parts of the world.  But alas, not Canada, not Australia; thankfully.  Well, at least most times I’m thankful for more restrained political expression. 

Notwithstanding the trials related to incompatible power supplies, enthusiastic but misguided repairmen and sparkies; and overzealous government agencies, I have to admit that it was wonderful to have our own stuff again (except the non-functioning appliances).  In particular our bed and linens and having our knives and kitchen implements is quite lovely.  The rental items were fine, but as one would expect from rental furnishings they were well worn.  The frying pan was warped from being thrown into cold water, clearly when it was still hot enough to be re-worked and the knives were as dull as the look on a sales guys face mid-afternoon during Stampede week (an all week drunk) in Calgary, everything else, while functional, was tired.  Sharp knives and good cookware is certainly well appreciated. 

Would we move these things across the world if it came to that again?  Perhaps not.  I think that the lesson that this has taught us is that we would take the pieces that we needed AND that were easy to transport.  Photos, art, collectables (or at least those things with sentimental value) our clothing, linens and that’s perhaps it.  Could I offer some advice on this?  Certainly, I’m always one to provide an option, welcome or otherwise.  I would say that you should take what you need and nothing else.  For us, this probably would mean our kitchen, attendant with all the pots, pans, tins, cake forms and whatnot that we’ve been collecting over the years; our art, again collected for sentimental reasons over the years.  Our clothing; and our documents[1] (including books, music and photographs) would also make the trip, every time.  The furniture is good, but we don’t have any really important pieces so it’s unlikely that they would be brought along on any subsequent move.

Having said that, things certainly would depend on the circumstances of the move, how much time we had to organize and whatever else.  We were given an allowance to move a certain amount of our possessions, which could not be “converted” into new furnishings here, so of course these things came with us.  Further, and to give ourselves credit, Nicole’s job came up fast and things moved so quickly for us that we barely had time to get in a cab, let alone properly assess what was being sold to fire sale and what was coming with us.  In fact our packing and organizing had all the structure and discipline of abandoning a besieged embassy. 

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[1] As far as documents go.  Take the originals and take plenty of certified copies, more on this later.