My last week in Colombo

The last six months have flown past. It seems like only yesterday I was experiencing my first Tuk tuk ride and gazing wide eyed at all the new and interesting things you see every time you land on a new shore. Now I don’t think twice as I roam around the city by foot or by tuk’ it has become home to me and I don’t feel like a tourist any more. Unfortunately though, having arrived at that comfortable point – it is time to pack up and return to my real home where winter still lives.

‘Zarges’ (My alloy trunk full of unaccompanied luggage) was packed last week and delivered to our logistics department where it waits for DHL to come and whisk it off back to NZ. It was a bit like saying goodbye to an old friend. When I arrived Zarges had beaten me here by a few days, but had taken over six weeks to fight its way through the red tape of landing unaccompanied before we were reunited. This time I have my fingers crossed that it will be waiting on my Dunedin doorstep by the time I arrive home. Yeah right!!!

I shouted cake this morning for my birthday. I only needed one this time, whereas three months ago two didn’t quite make it around everyone in the building – clearly we are ‘downsizing’.

My last week is all about doing final reports, closing my bank account, paying the bills, handing things over, farewell dinners, last minute souvenir shopping, goodbyes, stocking up with spices, and ‘unbolting the training wheels’ from my friend and colleague Harin who will take over as National Security Officer for IFRC.

Some of the things I will miss about Sri Lanka: The food – particularly the prawns, tuk tuks – with which I have a love hate relationship, taxi fares, the friends I have accumulated along the way, no swearing – I’ve hardly heard an angry word since I arrived, the positive working environment, friendly courteous people, eclectic architecture, and the food!

Some of the things I will not miss: Traffic, indiscriminate and incessant tooting of horns, busses, pollution, armed military presence, high security zones, politicians – I won’t go there!, bureaucracy, dog (and other) crap on pavements, motorcyclists on pavements, and breaking out in a sweat every time you blink!

Looking forward to: Reuniting with Jen, family, friends and pets, feeling the lawn between my toes – well maybe when the frosts stop!, traffic rules, preparing my garden for spring planting, dreaming up new mad schemes over a Whisky or two with my good mate Milton, fishing from our launch ‘Seagull’, settling down for a while before the next adventure, and the NZ launch of iPhone 4.

Not looking forward to: The struggle to lose the pounds I have gathered by enjoying too many prawns, the less positive aspects of my working environment (OK - work sucks!!), dog crap on pavements, taxi fares, and surly shop staff.

So now all that remains is to eat what little is left in the cupboards, and figure out how on earth I am going to cram everything into my suitcase!

Finally I must share with you a quote I came across the other day that I can identify with:

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside - Chardonnay in one hand, chocolate in the other - thoroughly used up, totally worn out and loudly proclaiming "WOO HOO, What a Ride"

~ author unknown ~

Not that I am particularly fond of either Chardonnay or chocolate – but you get the idea…..

Greybeard's usual day at the office

It is 6am and through the haze of sleep I vaguely hear a bell ringing in the distance calling local Muslims to prayer. Ding… ding then a pause of a few seconds, ding…ding, another pause then ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. This is my daily signal to leap off the bed (it is too hot to sleep under even a sheet) and wander through for my morning shower. On the way I flick on the jug because I cannot function without my morning cup of tea, and soak some muesli (provided of course that my fridge hasn’t frozen my milk, and the mites haven’t breached the security of my muesli packet) I live on the eighth floor of a 6 year old apartment block that already looks 20 years old, but is reasonably comfortable with tile floor and the obligatory dark stained hardwood furniture common in these parts. 

Shower, dress, breakfast and a check of the cellphone for SMS messages that arrive frequently from various media and other sources to make sure that the world hasn’t ended overnight, then off to the lift and out into the heat, noise and traffic of the morning for my half hour stroll to work. “Good morning Sir” from the building caretaker and security guards at the door. Already at 7.30am it is in the mid to high 20s and humid, and traffic is building up along with the smog. The road along which I walk to work is quite busy and there is a constant tooting of horns (the Sri Lankan equivalent of indicators and road rules). Crossing the intersections can be challenging, but at this time just as school is starting most larger intersections have a policeman directing traffic as the traffic lights just can’t cope – and in any case they are often ignored. My walk takes often takes me past several lady street sweepers who, armed with their ‘witches brooms’ are busy sweeping the footpath clear of leaves, rubbish, and just like NZ - dog poo!

Every couple of minutes a tuk tuk buzzes past and I am either tooted at or “taxi?” is yelled at me by the driver – I have given up replying. If I wanted a taxi surely I would be standing on the side of the road waving at one! A little further on and I pass by the World’s first woman Prime Minister’s house, the late Mrs Bandaranaike, then I come to ‘The Lily Petal’, a little local café that sells me for the equivalent of 70c NZ two bread rolls filled with a sort of savoury omelette, tomato, lettuce and mayonnaise – my lunch. It has become so routine that the shop assistant sees me coming and has my rolls bagged up ready as I walk in the door without a word having been exchanged. I don’t have the heart to change my order now!

I am usually among the first to arrive at the office just before 8am, but thankfully my Sri Lankan colleague Harin, has often beaten me by an hour and has turned the a/c on. I spend the next half an hour or so trying to stop sweating before changing into a fresh shirt. Another cup of tea follows along with a chat to Harin to catch up on anything that has happened overnight. Harin is the National Security Officer and will take over my role when I return to the NZ winter at the end of July. We often spend time analysing current events – what does this decision by Government mean? What happens if this person becomes Minister of Housing? etc. The rest of the morning is spent reading and responding to the 30 or so emails that have arrived since the afternoon before, and reading media and other reports online. Sometimes there are meetings to attend. There are lots of meetings in Red Cross! Often a brief update of the security situation is all that is required. Probably half of these meetings are with people outside Red Cross – UN, other NGO’s, Embassy staff, and a range of other people who all become part of our local security network as we become part of theirs.

We (Harin or I) deliver security briefings to visiting delegates warning them about what to look out for and how to avoid becoming a victim while they are here. Sometimes there are incidents to inquire into or analyse. All security incidents (from traffic accidents, to breaches of regulations) have to be reported to the security unit, investigated, analysed, and recommendations made, and records kept. I also have a variety of reports to write and keep updated so I spend a lot of time in front of a computer.

Before I know it, two milky sweet cups of tea have been delivered (10am and 3pm) and it is time to gather my bits and pieces and wander off home reflecting on the day, dodging puddles, tuk tuks and busses, and chatting to the caretaker at the apartment before checking the mail and taking the lift back up to the eighth floor. The apartment by this time has reached the high 30’s so I collapse under a fan and rehydrate with a cold can as I stop sweating again.

A quick bite to eat – often simple fare as it is cheaper and easier to go to a hotel for a proper meal every few days than cook, check the emails, write a bit, maybe watch Discovery Channel for a bit and I am likely to be on my bed under the fan by 9pm – this being the coolest place in the apartment. Perhaps I will have veges tomorrow, maybe my milk won’t be frozen by the morning……Thus ends another day.

Greybeard's week in Bangkok

Saturday the 15th May 2010 was another hot and sticky day in Colombo. Jen and I had decided to walk to the shopping centre to pick up a few things in the morning and were totally unprepared for the phone call that came from Kuala Lumpur and turned the next week or so upside down for both of us.

Michael, the IFRCs Asia Pacific Zone Security Coordinator, had received a request for assistance from the Acting Head of Regional Delegation in Bangkok who was reporting a crisis that was starting to get out of control and become a threat to Federation staff there.

‘Red shirt’ protestors calling for the ousting of Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva had occupied and barricaded themselves into a block of central Bangkok and were engaged in a standoff with the authorities who up to recent days had taken a fairly lenient approach and simply closed off the block. Unfortunately this was a block that accommodated a lot of embassies which had to close, and had the skytrain and underground running through the middle of it which were also stopped. The protest had started to escalate and already some deaths had occurred. The whole shambles was starting to attract international media attention and some disorder was starting to spill out beyond the protest site with tyres and vehicles being set on fire and gunfire exchanges between the authority’s cordons and the protest site.

Michael had just returned from a short mission to Afghanistan and was preparing for another to Myanmar so was not keen to change flights and visas as it is extraordinarily difficult to obtain the required permission in the first place. “Would I be available to go in his stead?” he asked. Of course the obvious and correct answer was – “Yes” so he signed off to go and clear it with both of our bosses with a promise to let me know one way or the other by Sunday afternoon.

Sunday afternoon came and everyone who needed to had agreed that I should go as soon as possible to Bangkok for a week. Unfortunately ‘as soon as possible’ doesn’t take into account the need for a certain amount of bureaucratic process that allows our organisation to provide jobs for a goodly number of people! Gradually and with much articulated encouragement the ‘machine’ swung into action and I was able to get onto a flight which arrived in Bangkok on Tuesday morning. I had by this time been in regular contact with the ‘Critical Incident Management Team’ (CIMT) in Bangkok and had begun to study the background to the whole affair and get an appreciation of where we were at.

 

As I was driven in from the airport to the Federation office near Sukhumvit, I could see smoke rising from what was obviously the protest site. I was struck with the impression that the area was miniscule in relation to the rest of Bangkok and that as soon as you went a couple of hundred metres away from the checkpoints it was pretty much business as usual. “No, I don’t want a massage thank you.” “No, I don’t want to buy a Rolex thank you.”

 

I met with the team at the office and it quickly became apparent that although they were tired from being in a state of heightened awareness for some time, and were a little thin on the ground (HoRD and the Security Focal Point were both out of the country on leave) things had been managed very well, and the incident was in capable hands. While the team was grateful to see me arrive (I think) I had no wish to take over anything and we quickly formed a good working relationship where I was there for support, reassurance, encouragement, and to share the load. By then the 109 staff and dependants had been accounted for and if necessary relocated out of danger zones. Phase Orange had been declared and all but emergency travel banned, and the office, which was adjacent to and overlooking the protest area was closed. I was equipped with a laptop, cellphone, local cellphone, satellite phone, maps, lists and sufficient cheese crackers and beer to withstand a siege. This meant that I could work from anywhere, and was able to function from my hotel room nearby if necessary. The only flaw became evident the next day when the power and internet went off as someone set fire to a substation. The only tolerable place in the nearly 40 degree heat became the hotels rooftop pool so with its sky view at least the sat’ phone was working.

We settled into a routine for the week where we would attend a morning meeting with ICRC to share information from overnight and set the agenda for the day, then we would walk quietly back to the Federation office via the back streets and deal with any matters arising, check in with various people, update everyone and then finish the day with another ICRC meeting. Our morning walks between offices along Sukhumvit were a great gauge of the general feeling on the street (“No thank you, I don’t want a massage”) and enabled us to achieve a better balanced view of what was going on.

Wednesday morning was when Government forces moved in effectively and quickly with troops and armoured vehicles to disperse the Red Shirts. This was a day that saw widespread outbreaks of anger, violence, and arson in various parts of Bangkok as well as a curfew being imposed for the next week. This was also the day that (coinciding with our usual walk to the office) a clash took place at Asok on Sukhumvit near where the office and my hotel were. Thankfully we were some way off so that when we heard shots in the distance we were able to detour via side streets (“No, I really don’t want a massage thank you.”) and spend the rest of the day in another part of town.

Bizarre as it may seem, with all this going on, tourists were still wandering up and down Sukhumvit, and although the streets were relatively quiet I was able to have a good look around, sample some fantastic Thai street food, and get into tourist mode myself for a bit.

Now, several weeks on with things back to normal, at least outwardly, this crisis is reported to have cost 85 dead and 1402 injured.

Despite the circumstances of my visit, I found Bangkok and its people wonderfully vibrant and its food has to be sampled to be believed. This is a place high on my list to explore further in quieter times.

Greybeard goes to Fort

A colleague, in fact my boss in NZ was delighted that I was going to be based in Colombo for 6 months. Not, as it turns out because he wanted rid of me for a while (or so I choose to believe), but rather because a relative was posted here with the Navy during World War 2 and there was research to be done here to fill in some blanks in a book he is writing.

 

I had heard that there was a Maritime Museum in Colombo, but was having no joy finding it by asking any of my local contacts. Taking my usual fallback position in these things I made Google my friend and quickly learnt that the Colombo Maritime Museum did in fact exist but due to some graphical electronic interfacial error was not where Google Maps said it was. In reality it was housed in the only remaining example of Dutch architecture in Colombo in the form of the original Dutch prison here right in the middle of the Sri Lankan Navy’s High Security Zone near the waterfront in Fort (a suburb of Colombo and also originally a Dutch fort)

During my first week here I had an encounter with an officious armed matelot near here as I strolled blissfully ignorant along the waterfront with my camera over my shoulder. Seems this area has been ‘off limits’ now for years – accounting for why no one knew about the museum.

Naturally I was dubious about another visit having heeded my earlier warning and stayed away ever since but nevertheless I engaged a local tuk tuk driver and set off armed with rough directions to look for an old Dutch Prison along the waterfront. Making eloquent use of his several words of English he explained to me that we would go along the waterfront road and try our luck to see how far we got and that if we were stopped he would interpret for me at a cost yet to be confirmed.

Away we went and upon reaching the first checkpoint it quickly became apparent that the security forces were becoming more user friendly and less aggressive. After some smiling, pointing and nodding and much parley in Sinhalese we were able to proceed, but only on foot. The next emplacement was equipped with a very large machine gun which pointed at us through the concertina wire as we walked toward it along the road. I was feeling a little nervous as I was again carrying a camera. Fortunately the gunner was as happy as his colleagues and cheerfully waved us on to the next point a few metres further on and staffed this time by police. This cheerful crew pointed to a long low building in the distance which, as we got closer proved to be the elusive museum and indeed was housed in an old prison like building.

Arriving at a wide open vehicle sized entrance maybe 10 metres from the museum door we were prevented from entering by a policeman who pointed at the ‘Exit’ sign on his gate and an ‘Entry’ sign back the way we had come. Retracing our steps for 75 metres we entered via the entry gate and returned along the inside of the fence to the point we were a couple of minutes earlier and on into the museum.

The museum is quite small, entry is free, and there are few exhibits, but it is interesting and has been well put together. Unfortunately, even after explaining what I wanted I was flatly refused permission to take photographs. I was keen to record one exhibit, and felt like a spy as I hung around until no one was looking before quickly taking out my phone camera and firing off a quick snap before sneaking guiltily to the exit – where I was able to buy for just 300 Rupees (around $3) a comprehensive colour guide to the museum containing detailed photographs of every exhibit I had just seen, several postcards, and a book on the history of the port!

I wandered sheepishly back with the tuk tuk driver / guide wondering how much his services were going to cost, but again was pleasantly surprised when after dropping me across town he gladly accepted my starting offer of 500 rupees ($5) for his mornings work!

One in a thousand

I am a keen photographer with some formal training and what I believe is a fairly good compositional eye, but I, like most of the world have fallen into the trap set by manufacturers of digital cameras. Once upon a time when cameras held real film you had to be careful about composing each and every shot. Developing and printing films was a costly business so you were naturally cautious. Quality before quantity!

Along came digital media and now you didn’t have to do anything apart from downloading your photos to your computer. Photoshop and similar software enabled you to manipulate images in your virtual darkroom, but more often than not you ended up with the digital equivalent of a shoebox of prints in the back of a drawer somewhere. Quantity over quality!

Now, because each image isn’t wasting film I have developed (excuse the pun) the habit of taking LOTS of images. In the days of film I could have a 36 exposure film in my camera for months, whereas now will happily snap away a hundred images in a day. I have found that if I take 1000 photos, 100 or so will be average, then maybe 20 or so will be ‘keepers’ (not that I ever actually throw any away – I just get more storage capacity) and 5 or 10 of the 1000 will be pretty darned good and worth printing and maybe framing.

Then every so often, but quite rarely, I am lucky enough to take an image that is in my eyes spectacular.. this is the 1 in 1000 shot that requires no manipulation or even cropping, the colours are realistic, the exposure is spot on, the composition follows the rule of thirds, and the image 'says something.'

Such was my very good fortune when just a few days ago I ‘snapped’ this image from the terrace bar of a hotel in Galle where my wife and I were spending a relaxing break away from the ‘busyness’ of Colombo.

Divine Intervention

10 days or more ago I lost the wee stylus that slides into the base of my phone.

No big deal - except that I spent an entire day roaming around the city into every mobile phone shop I could find - and there are literally hundreds of them looking for a replacement.

Now every shop had a box full of maybe a hundred or so different types for every phone imaginable - except mine 'cos its relatively new. (Why is it necessary for every stylus for every model and every type of phone to be different?)

Eventually though I managed to find a 'cheap rip off’ copy of the real thing - and that still cost me $10!!

Stay with me here OK....

Walking home from work today past the Buddhist centre (I have only been past this way once before since I've been here) I just happened to glance down to see a phone stylus in the middle of the footpath.

What are the chances........ considering too that every morning here the footpaths are swept to within a micrometre of the thickness of the seal by a fleet of broom wielding little old ladies and men.

This is a footpath on a street that has a traffic jam twice a day as children go to and from the international school next to the Buddhist centre so its not just a sleepy wee side street.

OK... so believe it or not the stylus is a genuine Nokia Xpress Music 5800 stylus (remember every model is different), and it is even the same colour as my original one.

Now explain to me what the chances of that happening are eh??

I reckon its about the same as leaving a full bottle of beer on the footpath in central Dunedin and it still being there after a weekend!!

So now I have two.

Believe it or not - it happened here!!!!!

Pimp my tuk tuk!

Thousands of these funny looking three wheeled chariots prey on hapless tourists in every suburb of Colombo like bugs around a lamp.

Powered by a 150cc petrol engine usually mechanically unmodified and perhaps the size of a lawnmower or chainsaw they are often decorated with various bits of chrome and ‘go fast’ stickers.

Not this pale green beauty!

As it pulled up to the red light which for a change drivers were mostly complying with you heard it first. “Tuck… tuck…tuck…tuck…tuck” it idled with a superior sort of attitude. Pulling alongside you could tell the owner was an enthusiast. The starting handle, normally a 2 foot long lever resting on the floor alongside the driver had been modified to include a raised grab handle – the driver no longer needed to reach down to floor level to start the beast, obviously designed for a racing start.

Plastic Barbie clung onto the 6 foot broadcast whip aerial, and mirror foil stuck to the rear window of the black vinyl ‘pram hood’. White vinyl Toyota mudguards had been modified to fit the miniscule rear wheel arches covering the tiny 10” wheels, and matched handpainted white racing stripes.

This machine’s unusual pastel colour (tuk tuks usually come in just the basic primary colours and cream) set it apart from its many relations, but as it dragged its impressive 150cc away from the lights at a breakneck crawl it was the sound it made that really inspired my comments.

To someone who has had to endure many nights of duty on the streets listening to New Zealand’s lost youth patrolling round and round the central city bocks sniffing petrol fumes and attempting to impress goodness knows who with their baked bean tin exhausts, and leaky butterfly exhaust valves, this sound just made me roar with laughter:

“Tik… Tuk…TUK..TUK.TUK.TUK.TUK……..WHheeeeeeze…” (as second of three gears is selected) “Tik… Tuk…TUK..TUK.TUK.TUK.TUK……..WHeeeeeeze…..” (third and final gear) “Tik… Tuk…TUK..TUK.TUK.TUK.TUK”…… off into the distance it ‘tukked’ enveloped in a light blue haze that emitted from the modified chrome exhaust extension that had the diameter of a large ballpoint pen!!

This Kiwi's ANZAC Day in Colombo

New Zealand has no consular representation in Sri Lanka so by default I have been adopted by the Australian High Commission which also just happens to be across the road from the IFRC Movement Coordination office I work in. Soon after my arrival, in good ANZAC spirit, the Australians extended the hand of friendship and offered ‘sanctuary’ should I have the need to jump over their fence ‘in extremis’. In return I helped them drink some of their very good red wine on Australia Day earlier in the year.

A couple of weeks ago I was hand delivered an official invitation from the Australian High Commission requesting that I represent NZ at an ANZAC Day commemorative ceremony to be held at the War Graves section of the local Kanatte General Cemetry. This was to be followed by a ‘gunfire breakfast’ at the High Commissioner’s residence. Even though I am probably the most easily accessible of the very few Kiwis in Sri Lanka, it was still an honour to asked. I was very keen to experience how Australians ‘do’ ANZAC, and I was eager to learn what a ‘gunfire breakfast’ was all about, though I suspected it had more to do with rum than guns!

At 0500hrs it is still dark in Colombo, and a pleasant temperature of around 25 degrees. Thankfully the monsoon hasn’t quite started here in earnest yet so although very humid it wasn’t raining. The mosquitoes enjoyed the arrival of a hundred or so ‘human breakfasts’ and quickly made feasts of us. Among the official guests were the American Ambassador, the Honorary Consul-General of the Republic of Turkey, a Sri Lankan Admiral, and various other high ranking Sri Lankan military officers. Staff from the High Commission and other embassies as well as a sprinkling of ex-pats, some wearing medals made up the rest of the small crowd. The pathway through the cemetery to the hedged and newly mowed war graves section had been lit with small potted candles and these continued through the graves to an open area under the trees where the ceremony was to take place.

A peaceful and reverent scene unfolded as the sky started to lighten and the service got under way at the appointed 0530hrs. HE Kathy Klugman welcomed everyone and gave a short explanation of the history of ANZAC Day, then Father Ivan Perera, Archdiocese of Colombo led a prayer followed by a contemporary version of the Lords Prayer and then Kemal Ataturk’s speech to the mothers of ANZACs was read by Mrs Bharathi Wijeratne, the Honorary Consul-General of the Republic of Turkey.

The program showed the New Zealand representative (me) laying a wreath after the Australian High Commissioner, then the Honorary Consul-General, and finally the American Ambassador. Unfortunately the American Ambassador (or one of her minions) had neglected to bring a wreath – so an unfortunate Sri Lankan driver was dispatched to find one at 0500hrs on a Sunday in Colombo! To his credit he was triumphant, albeit arriving at the end of the ceremony. We shared the three available wreaths among the four of us and laid them in front of the graves of an Australian and a Kiwi grave that were chosen because they were side by side. In fact the Australian grave was between two Kiwi graves – all three being airmen who died on the same day – February 13th 1943, we are told they were on a transport plane that crashed near Colombo. Later in the day I would find out how poignant that was given the tragic event in New Zealand this ANZAC Day morning. After the wreaths had been laid, Australian Federal Police Detective Superintendent Shane Austin resplendent in full formal dress uniform recited The Ode then ending the ceremony the Last Post and Reveille were played by a pair of equally magnificently dressed Sri Lankan Army Buglers. I would have to say that I have never heard such a well played rendition, especially considering how difficult the timing issues must be when playing two bugles in unison – it was faultless and certainly had the regulation ability to raise the hairs on the back of your neck.

Everyone was invited back to the High Commissioner’s residence where a full buffet breakfast had been laid on including all the usual suspects: Bacon, sausages, eggs, hash browns, baked beans, toast etc. Again the setting was outside on the lawn under the trees. A bottle of Bundaberg rum – being one of two things, red wine being the other, which I concede Australia does better than New Zealand – sat on a table with the coffee ready to be raised in a glass to honour those who gave their lives in the service of their countries. As the sun climbed above the horizon the temperature rose towards the usual daily 34 degrees making formal dress a little too uncomfortable, so by 0730hrs the gathering came to its natural conclusion and everyone quietly wandered off home.

Reviving the lost art

Yes, indeed it has been some time since my last post and a lot of water has passed under the bridge since January.

A great deal of my time is spent in front of a computer screen, so I have been a little reluctant to spend any longer than I need to doing the same at home..... just too much else to see and do.

I won't bore you with every little thing that has happened, suffice to say though that everything has progressed pretty much according to plan.  I am still in Colombo, "Zarges" and I were eventually (after 6 weeks) reunited, I am enjoying a thoroughly interesting job, and  I haven't heard a swear word since I arrived (unless you count the expletive I uttered the evening my Tuk tuk was nearly 'T boned' by one of the many psychopath drivers here coming through one of the few red lights in the country.) My driver avoided our deaths by the thickness of a coat of paint and was rewarded with a handsome tip when I arrived at my apartment.

A Colombo sunset - something they do very well and frequently here!

The rules.... OK

Don't you just hate all those unsolicited emails that keep dropping into your mailbox?  All that electronic junk mail that you have to sort through just to make sure that you haven't missed anything!
Well, I have no intention of subjecting you to that. 
So.... here are the rules: If you don't want my blog to keep arriving unbidden by you, just commit it to your junkmail heap, block it, delete it, spam me - I don't care, in fact I probably won't even know about it, I'd rather keep you as a friend and bore you with my adventure stories after I get back than wear our friendship out.
That said, and because I am a relatively new blogger, I am going to try inserting a link to an article from our good old Dunedin paper the ODT.  If this works you should be able to click on the link and find yourself transported to the front page of yesterdays paper where you can read even more about me. 
Link to ODT
Yahoo.... it works!!! This blogging is great for the ego!!
Right. I am enjoying, or rather putting up with my last day in NZ for six months.  I know that sounds awful, but its just that I am all packed and have ticked off all the things I had to do before going so I've got nothing left to do but 'go'..... and I don't 'go' until tomorrow so I'm all hyped up and every few minutes a thought comes into my head like:  'Did I remember to pack this?' or 'Did I leave instructions about turning the heating on?' Well, yes, of course I've done all those things, but it still goes through your head.
I will shortly go and busy myself in the galley and prepare a sumptuous gastronomic delight for our last dinner together for a few weeks and will try to avoid making it with curry (as I suspect I will soon have all the curry I can handle!)
So my next post will definitely be from 'away'.

Haiti thoughts

I digress briefly...... because I can - this is my blog remember.
My email has been working overtime for the last couple of days. The first indication of a problem was a notification cc'd to me from an emergency watch website to say there had been an 7.3 magnitude earthquake near Haiti and a subsequent tsunami alert.
My brain registered an alert at seeing the word Haiti because I had been there last year for 6 weeks as part of a joint Austrian / NZ team of IT & Telecom Red Cross Emergency Response Unit. At that time Haiti had just been devastated by three hurricanes in a row. I stayed in a hotel in Petionville and was familiar with Port au Prince, it's hillside shantytowns, poor construction, lack of infrastructure, and poverty.
The day before I left a school nearby collapsed killing a hundred or so. It was unfortunately inevitable, as is the outcome of this new disaster.
As the scale of the current event unfolds I find myself privvy to local knowledge that most people don't have. I have seen with my own eyes how ramshackle buildings are put together one on top of another, how long it takes to negotiate the narrow winding alleyways overflowing with people and the sheer mass of people who have outgrown their habitat - a bit like a human algael bloom!
It is difficult for people who have never been there to comprehend the scale involved but here is a picture painted with local comparison: The population of Dunedin represents the dead. Mix them with the population of Christchurch who represent the lucky survivors, then drop in the population of Auckland who represent the injured. Put the whole lot into a space about the size of Wellington, close all the roads, turn off the water, electricity and telephones, send the authorities on holiday, push over every second building, remove the toilets turn up the heat and wait. That to me is the nearest I can imagine of what Haiti has turned into. Hard to believe too that Haiti, one of the poorest countries in the western world is just over an hour's flight from one of the richest nations on the planet! Hopefully in that statement lies part of the solution to speedy and efficient assistance for people who are in desparate need.

Final preparations

Today something tangible happened. In the great scheme of things it wasn't much, it will never make headlines, and it won't change the world, but to me it was significant nonetheless. Written into my contract is a clause that allows me 25kg of unaccompanied luggage at no cost to me. Today my 25kg started it's journey to Colombo - unaccompanied, and unpaid by me. For the last week or two I have discreetly (so as not to cause upset) taken over the spare bedroom to make my preparations. I think I am a fairly organised creature for the most part so I have been laying out a collection of 'essentials', editing them, adding to, deleting from so that I end up with everything I think I will need to exist for 6 months in a place I have never been to, doing a job I have never done before.
How many pair of trousers will I need? Do I have a shirt I can wear a tie with if the need arises? What is the likelihood of that need arising? Do I have a tie that will match? Can I get away with one pair of semi-formal / semi-casual shoes? Will I really need a pair of jeans? Will I need a jacket? What if I run out of toothpaste, AA batteries, razor blades? Will I take my favourite kitchen knife?
Slowly the pile of stuff was trimmed to a more realistic sized mountain and 23.5kg of it was crammed into my trusty Zarges alluminium deployment trunk, its contents listed and declared for customs, forms filled in and it's hasps secured with nylon cable ties. I decided I would save the hassle of trying to coordinate a courier pick up for it so tossed it into the boot and delivered it to 'Toll Priority' for dispatch - or so I thought. "Where is that going?" asked a fairly disinterested employee from behind the counter. "How is it getting there?" was the next question and suddenly I realised I would probably never see my Zarges box again. Turns out that there is another 'Toll Priority' several blocks away and they deal specifically with the international dispatch of Zarges boxes (among other things). They are of course agents for the real company and of course the building was all locked up so I had to revert to the 0800 number that I should have started with. "The courier will be with you in 20 minutes", and good as his word he arrived. "This is the first time I've done this!" again made me lose confidence, but I must admit the driver seemed to have all the paperwork sorted in good time and left me with sufficient documentation to commence civil procedings with should I never see 'Zarges' again.

Off it went. I follow next week.
The point of this posting however was that today's dispatch of a small alloy trunk to Colombo ("it should reach there before you do") was to my mind an actual confirmation that I am really going somewhere. I no longer have to pinch myself to see whether or not I am dreaming. I do hope though that I will see Zarges again in the not too distant future along with it's contents, especially my Isongbook and mokka pot coffee percolator!

more waiting

Some weeks had gone by and I hadn't heard anything so I decided to contact the person who was vacating the position I applied for. Communication pathways are sometimes convoluted in large multinational organisations - it is just the nature of the beasts. Anyway, the incumbent (we will call him Michael) had been told that I was indeed the new him so it was good to know that at least my application had reached as far as it had. Despite encouraging notes from Michael I still didn't have official confirmation for some more weeks so I made a conscious decision not to be counting any chickens prematurely. Slowly but surely though I found myself reading and researching more about the job and the country, and having more email contact with Michael. When the phone call did happen it came as no real surprise, but rather just signalled a gear change in preparations to go. There followed more intense preparations, a visit to the Travel Doctor for updated vaccinations, the issue of a complete Unichem chemist shop squeezed into a 1kg bag, more forms,and a trip to Wellington for a contract signing and collection of more forms and tickets.
So the reality of what was happening was starting to dawn on us. Sleepless nights were plenty and signaled the roller coaster highs and lows of the pre-deployment 'what ifs'. Just as one half came to grips with what was happening the other half started having doubts and vice versa. With much nurturing though things eventually calmed to a point where now it is just the odd ripple that upsets the delicate equilibrium of life.