My Word!

There is just one moon

And one golden sun

And a smile means

Friendship to every one

Though the mountains divide

And the oceans are wide

It's a small world after all

- Sherman & Sherman It's a Small World (After All)

Tararua Range

We bought another new-to-us vehicle. This time it was something more practical ... a Toyota Landcruiser Prado VX. We also got good (and bad) news on the BMW. It's fixable, but the parts have to come from Germany. They will take at least 2 weeks to get here, so we won't have the car back until the end of September.

When I wrote about buying our first car in New Zealand (New Wheels and New Opportunities), I didn't go into much detail about the purchasing process. I did mention that we bought it from a public lot where people leave their vehicles for sale, but the post was more about the person from whom I bought it than the way in which the transaction actually happened. As it turns out, there are many options for buying a used vehicle in Palmy; online auction sites, online private sales, local dealers, etc. There are also cars for sale at one of the local parks. For a $10/wk permit fee, people can leave their car at Memorial Park and post a “for sale” poster in the window  (max 4 sales permits per person per year). The selection of vehicles in the lot includes clunkers, luxury vehicles, and even camper-vans. When we bought our SUV, we had a very limited budget and were focused on the clunkers.

We found what we were looking for, surrounded by much nicer vehicles and looking a little sad, but it was exactly what we needed; 4WD, diesel, roomy ... and under $3000. I called the number written on the flier and arranged to take it for a test drive. Our first surprise was that the owner didn't want to ride with us for the drive. He handed me the keys and off we went. It was beat up and smelly, and a lot of the little plastic bits on the inside were broken or missing, but it drove well. The next step was to ask the owner if I could take it to my mechanic for an inspection. This time the owner came with me, and while the car was being inspected, he and I had a coffee. The inspection went well and despite the dings, scratches, and welds on the body, the drive-train and under-carriage were in great condition for what we wanted.

Chumba at the Tongariro Crossing

The last step was to negotiate a price, and that’s where we had another surprise. I handed the man an envelope of cash and he gave me the keys. No paperwork, no title or registration, nothing to sign! That's not to say I didn't know anything about the pedigree of the car. In New Zealand, if you know the plate number and/or VIN, you can go online and learn a lot about any car. I did a police check to make sure it wasn't stolen, an ownership check to see when it was imported and how many owners there had been, and I could even see when it had failed any Warrant of Fitness (WoF) inspections and what was done to bring it up to code. I could also see that the odometer wasn't accurate ... at each ownership change and WoF inspection, the odometer reading is recorded. Somewhere along the way, someone had either replaced the odometer or disconnected it (a dodgy practice some in NZ employ to avoid paying road usage taxes). I registered the car at the post office and waited for the title papers to be mailed to me. After having my mechanic fix a couple of minor items, and putting on a new set of tyres, we were the proud owners of a beat up 1996 Nissan Terrano 4x4. Chumba-wamba (gets knocked down, but gets up again), was named by one of my oldest friends during a visit to the South Island (The Long Walk) and made the trip, including two ferry rides, without a complaint.

The mechanic I liked worked at a branch of Manawatu Toyota on the hospital property. In the 8 months we had Chumba, he got to know us fairly well. One shift, I left my lights on and walked out to a dead battery. The mechanic towed Chumba to the shop where it was put on a charger overnight. When I went to pick it up the next day, he wouldn't charge me. He told me to "bring us some pies or something", and so I did. They liked the pies so much, the next time I was in they asked where I got them (Sony Bakery on the corner of Ferguson & Albert). In one of those "small world" moments, I discovered that my mechanic's daughter is a NZ trained doctor now living and working in Canada. He had always wanted to visit Canada, and his plan was to retire soon and go for a visit. When we returned to NZ last month, I discovered he had retired and was gone from the shop. I hope he made it across the pond.

My new girlfriend

A typical blog post takes me about 6-10 hours to generate, from conceptualizing and researching, to writing and formatting, and then finally posting. Quite obviously, I don’t do this all in one 10-hour marathon session. Rather, I work on it a little bit each day. During our last stint here, I averaged about 1 post per week and Kari used to joke that my blog was “the other woman” in my life. Our new rental has a wood-burning fireplace insert, and I have a new girlfriend. Using the firebox is a lot different than a traditional open fireplace, and I have spent an awful lot of time trying to figure it out.

When we were in New Zealand two years ago, we were in a wonderful little house with amazing landlords who also happened to be great neighbours. It was a cozy home with an open and connected kitchen, dining area, and lounge. There was a fireplace in the lounge, but we couldn't use it. I can't remember if it hadn't been inspected or hadn't passed inspection, but the end result was the same ... no fires. In the winter, the house was heated by a combination of a single heat-pump in the kitchen/dining area and portable electric heaters. Electricity here is expensive (~$0.22-0.34/KWh), and older Kiwi homes are built in such a way that you can close of sections of the house, only heating the areas you are using. In the evening, we would heat the common areas. At night, we would turn on electric bed warmers and bring the portable heaters into the bedrooms, shutting off the heat to the rest of the house.

Normal fireplaces are aesthetically pleasing, provide a nice warm glow, and give off a distinctive and attractive aroma and sound. Unfortunately, their efficiency is only about 10% ... the vast majority of the heat they generate goes up the chimney. Fireplace inserts can have efficiencies >80%. They burn HOT! Not only does less heat escape, but they burn cleaner, meaning less soot and gases are released into the air. In NZ, heating with wood using a modern efficient woodburner is also relatively less expensive (~$0.14-0.20/KWh if you have to purchase your own wood ... much cheaper if you have your own wood lot like friends of ours). On our arrival to our new home, one of my tasks was getting in a supply of firewood.

Gum Tree wood ... neatly stacked.

Much of getting things done in New Zealand is more about who you know than what you know. It is a country of relationships. As my retirement/insurance agent said to me, "There are only about 5 million people here. Everyone knows everyone else, and everyone knows who pays their bills and who doesn't." We had experienced this during our last visit here. So often Kari would be looking online to find somewhere to stay for our various adventures. A few times, she found that nothing was available. She would call the local iSite and be told ... "Oh, so-and-so down the road has a room for hire but doesn't advertise it. I will have her contact you."

The same is true for finding firewood. One of our friends gave us the number for the person they use. I contacted him, but he didn't have much. He had plenty of wood for next season, but we are toward the end of this season and he didn't have anything that he thought was good enough to sell to me. Another friend hooked us up with his wood guy. That guy only had two trailer loads left and was happy to sell one to me. On a random Tuesday morning, he showed up in my drive and we chucked a trailer load of wood into the garage. We have a 1-car garage that was now full of wood. When I got a chance, I would spend 20 or 30 minutes stacking it, but it was going to be a week or more before we could use the garage again. Imagine my surprise when I came home from work on the Friday before Father's Day to find all the wood stacked up against the garage wall. I was chuffed! Kari and Little H had given me the best Father's Day gift I could have asked for.

2005 Toyota Landcruiser Prado VX

Buying our newest vehicle was another adventure in Kiwi culture. When speaking with my insurance guy, he asked “only one car?” Not going into too much detail, I told him that I was waiting for Kari to arrive from the US and then we would be looking for an SUV. He mentioned that one of his other clients had an older Landcruiser for sale that looked to be in pretty good condition. A couple of days later, I got an email from the owner with a description of the vehicle and pics. It has a petrol (gasoline) engine, and we really wanted a diesel, but it was pretty much everything else we were looking for. I made arrangements to meet him and take it for a drive. Again, he offered me the keys and was ready to let me take it for a ride. I was in an unfamiliar place and told him he better come with me because I might get lost. The truck drove great ... steering was tight, no rattles or shakes. I warned him I was going to drive it a little aggressive, and he was game. I had no real problems with the truck, but it was going to need new tyres (a huge expense here), and I really wanted a diesel, so I passed.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, and the day before I wrecked the BMW (Under the Weather), he called me and told me he was going to lower the price from $15K, to $12K (or $13.5K with new tyres). At that price, I was a little more interested, but I didn’t want to commit to buying Kari a truck without her driving it. I told him I would talk with Kari when she arrived in a week. We discussed it, and decided that we couldn’t beat the price. It’s an older truck, but we could drive it a short while and get something newer and exactly what we want in a year or so. We called the owner and agreed to meet again for Kari to give it a squiz.

This is where things went full Kiwi. Fraser is a giant of a man ... big bear paws for hands. But he is the nicest, kindest, most soft-spoken kind of gent. Kari looked the truck over and we were good to go. I pulled out my phone to transfer money to him, and he said “nah”, didn’t have much time. He was on his way to Hawaii for a couple of weeks and had to get going. He handed us the keys, a sheet of paper with his bank info, and said to just transfer the money when we got home. “Just don’t leave the country or anything” he joked as he walked away. Let me make this perfectly clear ... on our promise and a handshake, he handed us the keys to the truck for which we had just agreed to pay him $12K, gave us his bank account information, and said “Pay me later. I’m going to Hawaii for two weeks.”

It gets even more Kiwi ... Fraser told us he was going to learn to surf in Hawaii and I mentioned that I wanted to go to the surf camp in Raglan NZ. That’s when he mentioned that he had a mate with a house in Raglan. He said we should call him when we are making plans to head up to Raglan and his buddy would hook us up with a place to stay. “I mean it”, he said ... and I am sure he really did.

Cowabunga ...

Under the Weather

It was a dark and stormy night;

The rain fell in torrents

Except at occasional intervals,
When it was checked
By a violent gust of wind
Which swept up the streets

- Edward Bulwer-Lytton Paul Clifford

Oops!

So in my last post, I had written about how much fun my new car is to drive. I had also written about how I see a lot of road fines in my future. What happened after owning my new car for only one week was far more mundane ...

It was a dark and stormy night. I have previously mentioned the weather here in Palmy ... cold, dark, windy, rainy. This night was no exception. The day started out ok ... I worked the 7a-5p shift and rushed out a little early so I could get home right away for Little H’s parent-teacher meeting. I had tried to book a late meeting, but the latest I could get was 5:30p. I collected Little H right after getting home from work and off we went. It happened to be a Thursday night, and so we had a special treat in store after our meeting. One of the local food trucks sets up in a park on Thursday nights. They serve the best burgers, and Little H and I had been planning this stop all week.

There had been a good amount of rain off and on for the past several days. It wasn’t too bad on our way into the school, and had let up walking out to the car after our meeting. During the drive over to the food truck, however, the skies opened. I was stuck on a side street trying to make a right turn across two lanes of busy traffic. There were few gaps in traffic, but when I finally spotted one, I pulled out. Visibility was bad ... really bad ... and I was looking straight in the direction of oncoming traffic, but through the rain and headlights somehow never saw the car coming from my right until it was too late. Fortunately, because of the rain, I had pulled out slowly. I suspect the other car was likely traveling at something less than full speed. Their front left smashed into my right front. No one was hurt, and after exchanging info, they were able to drive away. My steering rods were broken and the car was pouring out oil. I was barely able to pull the car to the side of the road; after which it was undriveable. How ironic that I joked about how many speeding fines I was in for and my accident was at less than 10 kph.

Not such a scary corner ... under clear skies, in broad daylight, and with no traffic.

I just sat there. I couldn’t believe it. I have been driving for 31 years, and I have never been in a significant car accident. I didn't know what to do. I saw a woman get out of the passenger side of the other car, and seeing that she was all right, told her that I would pull my car out of traffic. She was quite shaken up but was walking and talking just fine. After pulling my car over, I walked to the other vehicle. The driver had gotten out and also appeared well. He climbed back into his car and also moved off to the side. We then set about exchanging information. As I mentioned, I have never been in an auto accident before, so I wasn’t sure how to proceed. We exchanged personal information and I asked if we needed to call the police. The woman and bystanders assured me that we had 24 hours to file a police report. I have since gone through the rules and laws and found this to be correct. In instances where people are injured, police must be called immediately, otherwise the report can be filed later.

The next thing I did was to call a tow truck. Again, not sure what to do, I just looked one up online and called. They stated they were on the way. What I probably should have done before calling the tow truck was to call my insurance company, which is what I did next. My admittedly limited previous experience with these kinds of incidences is what led to my next series of mistakes. First off, I did gather the other person’s personal information, but neglected to get their car registration number (license plate number) or insurance info. When my insurance claim agent asked for this info, I did not have it (I did get it from the other person later). Second ... only afterward did I realize that I was getting all of the information from the woman passenger and none of the info from the driver. I quite honestly don’t even know his name. Thirdly, I had said “I’m sorry” and “It was totally my fault” on several occasions. Apparently, this is the exact wrong thing to do.

In determining who’s insurance company will foot the bill (and who’s insurance premium will subsequently take a big hike), who is at fault becomes quite important. Everything that I read online about dealing with an auto accident in NZ said to never accept blame. Simply gather all the information and submit it to the police and insurance companies. Leave it to them to assign blame. Partial fault can be assigned across two or more parties, but by saying “it was totally my fault” I may have inadvertently shouldered all of the blame ... and all of the cost. The night was dark, and raining heavily. Was the other car traveling too fast for conditions? Possibly, but I had just said “it was my fault”. Being even more naive, when the woman asked me to write down my description of the event, in essence I said that I caused it. Not a lot of wiggle room there. Was I mostly at fault? I would say so. Was I completely at fault? Again, I think so, but possibly not and I have not left much room for arguing that point.

When I talk to people about driving in NZ, they always ask about learning to drive on the “opposite” side of the road. I never really had much of a problem with it. That being said, I always thought that if I were in an accident, it would be because I was looking left when I should have been looking right. This time, I was actually looking right, directly at any oncoming traffic. Through the heavy rain and refracted lights, I just didn’t see that other car until it was too late. In the end, a car is just a thing that is fixable or replaceable. Most importantly, we are all fine. Still, I have been having trouble sleeping at night.

We never did get those burgers ...

Howdy, Partner!

What do I do when my love is away?

Does it worry you to be alone?

How do I feel by the end of the day?

Are you sad because you’re on your own?

No, I get by with a little help from my friends.

- Lennon/McCartney With a Little Help from My Friends

Hey, baby ... what’s your name?

Kari arrives to New Zealand in just a few days, and while I have really enjoyed the past three weeks of me and Little H against the world, I am eager for her to get here. Be it a spouse, a lover, a boyfriend or girlfriend, opposite gender or same gender, in New Zealand that person is referred to as your “partner”. During our last tour of duty here, I initially thought “partner” was a very odd word for this person in your life, but I came to embrace it. In the US and Canada, we give so much weight to the title “husband” or “wife” and anything else is somehow seen as ... well, less. The deep commitment and importance of other arrangements are inherently excluded when we hold the terms husband, wife, and spouse to a different standard. A partner can be any of these, but they are also so much more. Kari is not just a person to whom I am married; in every sense of the word, she is my partner ... and sometimes my partner in crime.

I must admit, though, that it can make for some interesting cross-cultural miscommunication when a Kiwi is referring to their domestic partner and a North American thinks they are talking about a business partner (and vice versa)!

Chumba-wamba

I have gone out and done something without my partner in crime, though. Sadly, the Highsteads have parted ways with our dear companion Chumba-wamba. I bought Chumba for a little over $2000, put another $1300 into new tyres, and got exactly what I paid for. Like an old and faithful dog, Chumba was a little beat up on the outside, smelled really bad on the inside, but was always there ready for the next adventure. In the year that we were away, Chumba lived a solitary life in a good friend’s barn, occasionally let out to drive around the paddock, then put away again. On my return, Chumba surprisingly started right back up and even passed a Warrant Of Fitness evaluation (miracles never cease). But with our now permanent residency in New Zealand, we needed a more reliable ride. Kari and I have always driven big pickups and SUVs. When we moved to Myrtle Beach, though, Kari’s Forerunner had passed it’s useful life. We got her a (slightly) used BMW 528i and proceeded to drive it into the ground. She was never really happy with that car, but I rejoiced in driving it. In the mean time, I got a Ram 1500 that I absolutely loved. When we were deciding what we wanted to drive in NZ, Kari announced that she wanted another SUV ... and that opened the door for me to get a completely impractical sports car.

The Ultimate Driving Experience

Enter the Highstead’s new whip (I am accepting suggestions for a name). It’s a stripped down 2011 BMW 335i ... whoever ordered it chucked all the options except the performance M package. No heated or electric seats, no iDrive, no tilting mirrors, no Bluetooth, no valet lock-out features, and no frills. There are only two pretty much useless cup holders, no USB ports, and none of the comforts we were used to in the 528i. What it does have is a sport-tuned engine and suspension, snug seats with side bolsters, a thicker/tighter steering wheel, and an automatic transmission. What? Who the hell strips a car down, goes for the straight hard-core driving experience, and gets an automatic transmission?

Driving it home from Welly the other day put the fear of God in me ... this car is fast, powerful, and way fun to drive. The Ultimate Driving Experience? Yep, I think so. It has a 3.0L turbocharged inline 6 cylinder engine that generates 300 hp and 300 lb-ft of torque. It’s been lowered and sits on 20in tyres. I am most impressed by how it leaps from 100 to 135 with just a twitch on the gas pedal. It is way more car than I have ever owned and I see a lot of driving fines in my future ... all with a shit-eating grin on my face.

Lasagna

   

Teriyaki Chicken ... & ... Scotch Filet

Slow-cooked Texas-style Brisket

Growing up, I came to appreciate finer foods. My grandmother used to say that I had champagne tastes and a beer pocketbook. Once I moved out on my own, a beer pocket book was barely an aspiration. I quickly learned that if I wanted to eat well on my budget, I would need to learn to cook. By the time Kari and I met, I was an accomplished and creative presence in the kitchen and I would argue that my skills rivaled Kari’s (she might not agree, but this is my blog, so ...); however, Kari definitely had a broader repertoire than I did. At first, we combined to make quite a team, but Kari enjoys cooking more than I do, and she gradually took over kitchen duties. I was slowly demoted from my role as Executive Chef, to Sous Chef, and eventually demoted further to Chef de Partie. Now, I am barely even a Kitchen Porter. At this point, Little H and I have been on our own for nearly a month, and wanting to make sure she is well-fed and properly nourished, I have had to revise my role. I think we have done pretty well, and when asked, Little H agrees.

Since arriving in New Zealand, I have had to arrange utilities for our home, set up television and internet service, and get our cell phones sorted out. I got Little H registered and started at school, went to the college (high school) open house, and registered her for next year. I have organized a wood delivery to keep us warm at night and tried to fill in what was missing from our “fully furnished” rental. Little H joined a local football (soccer) club and was invited to play for the regional team. My partner has been stuck in the U.S. organizing our move, while I have been navigating our new country and new culture as a single dad ... a role made especially difficult by a schedule in which I sometimes work late into the night. We have been fortunate that many of our friends in New Zealand have taken pity on us, fed us, and taken care of Little H on short notice. I have had to rely on friends to take in Little H ... feed her, challenge her, entertain her, and shuttle her off to football practice and games. It truly takes a village to raise a child, and I am incredibly grateful to the village around me. The past three weeks would not have been possible without a little help from our friends.

Thanks to all of you collectively and to each of you individually.

Zoom, zoom ...

What's In A Name?

He drinks a Whiskey drink, he drinks a Vodka drink

He drinks a Lager drink, he drinks a Cider drink

He sings the songs that remind him of the good times

He sings the songs that remind him of the best times

O Danny Boy, Danny Boy, Danny Boy

 - Tubthumping

Danny Boy

I've never been one to name my cars. I don't know if my cars didn't have any personality, or if maybe it was me without personality. That isn't meant to imply that my cars never had names, just that someone else did the naming.

I bought my first car from my brother, essentially for the cost of the wheels. A 1980 Pontiac Grand Prix, it had a 4.3L V8 engine with 125 hp and room enough to fit 8 for road trips. The 8 didn't fit comfortably, but I always had a seat to myself, so what did I care?

Looks just like mine, but not mine ... pic ripped from the web! 

Leaning against the Grand Prix. It didn't have a name but who cares when the driver is so flash! 

My first car with a name was a 1978 MG-B. I bought it because it was cheap and it was a convertible. I was living in Hawaii and it seemed perfect. An old, cheap, British car ... yep, totally practical for a college student on a budget. I spent as much time tinkering with it as I did driving it. My girlfriend named it Cameron, probably because she thought it was a quintessentially British name, or maybe because she was a fan of John Hughes films. I'm not sure.

Cameron 

My next car, also bought in Hawaii, was named by the same girlfriend and it really pissed me off. I was so angry every time she called it Flipper. In the 1990's there was a spate of reports about SUV roll-overs. First of all, those were SUVs ... Jeep Cherokee type vehicles, not Wranglers. Second of all, it was actually Ford Explorers that were recalled, not Jeep products at all. Third of all, mine was a 1985 Jeep CJ-7, an older and completely different kind of car. Yet Flipper the car remained ... I suspect the name stuck because it pissed me off so much.

I loved this Jeep and wish I had never gotten rid of it.

I lived another 23 years and drove a number of vehicles that were never given names. Shocking, I know! Moving to New Zealand, my contract included the use of a leased car. Prior to my arrival, I had asked for a wagon or an SUV, preferably something with 4-wheel drive; a car that would fit our active gear-laden lifestyle. What we got was a Suzuki Swift.

The Swift is a perfectly serviceable vehicle. It's easy to drive, easy to park, sips petrol, and barely has any blind spots. Unfortunately, it can barely fit the three of us and groceries, let alone the three of us and bags when we are travelling. There isn't enough room in the back seat for Little H's long gangly limbs, and Taylor really struggles going up hills. She looks nice, and seems to be able to do the job, but there's no there there. I'm sure she will write a break-up song about me when we get rid of her in 6 months. I think Little H wants to hate her too, but I occasionally catch her singing along.

Taylor, our Suzuki Swift.

We finally got around to buying a car that fits our needs. One of those needs, though, is the ability to unload it and not take too much of a financial hit when we leave New Zealand in 6 months. I had a limited budget and got exactly what I paid for; a beat up 1996 Nissan Terrano. There are dents and welds, and it looks like the front left quarter-panel has been dented then beaten out to something approximating its original shape. Plastic bits and pieces are missing from the inside, and it smells like old musty carpet. Little H is so embarrassed to be seen in it she makes me drop her off for school a block away. Perfect!

We recently took a trip to the South Island, driving from Palmerston North to Wellington and catching the InterIslander across the Cook Strait. My brother and sister-in-law were with us and we were meeting Dan, my college room-mate, during his tour of the South Island. We loaded up the truck and off we went. After a great 4 days on the Queen Charlotte Track, the subject of a future post, we were up for a day of brewery and winery tours in Blenheim. Along the way, Dan asked if I had given the car a name. I had not. We laughed and joked about Taylor, and I told him about a hire-car on our last South Island trip that I ended up naming Squishy because of the loose steering. I remarked about the Terrano's sordid past, dings and dents, but that it runs great. It got knocked down but it got up again ... I'm sure I sang the lyrics. Dan immediately dubbed it Chumbawamba and the name has stuck.

Meet Chumbawamba

We've had quite a few adventures with friends and family in town over the past couple of weeks and we are working on those posts. Kari has been adding some colour commentary to my play-by-play, adding her perspective to my dry narrative. And I think our photography skills are growing by leaps and bounds. I'm excited to get some more posts out soon.

Are you not entertained?

New Wheels and New Opportunities

Somewhere, somehow, somebody must have kicked you around some

Tell me why you want to lay there, revel in your abandon

Honey, it don't make no difference to me baby

Everybody has to fight to be free, you see

- Tom Petty

We bought a new car! Okay, we bought a used car. Yeah, yeah ... in reality, we bought a car shaped collection of dented metal with a motor in it. Still, it's a car.

1996 Nissan Terrano, Diesel

Seems a bit extravagant, maybe. After all, my contract provided us with a perfectly functional new car. The problem is, the one they provided doesn't really fit our lifestyle. We do a lot of camping, tramping, and nursery runs/gardening. We like to haul our bikes around and go to the beach. Every now and then, we find that we need to catch a quick nap in our vehicle so we prefer a little extra room to stretch out in. When I signed my contract, I asked for a wagon or an SUV, preferably a 4x4 ... something that would allow us to get out and around with our adventures. What we got was a Suzuki Swift. Don't get me wrong, it's a great city car. It sips petrol - we went from Palmy to Cape Palliser, on to Wellington and back on less than one full tank. And it's really easy to park; in a pinch, we might be able to squeeze it into a dumpster unseen!

But I keep cruising

Can't stop, won't stop moving

-----

I never miss a beat,

I'm lightning on my feet

- Taylor Swift

Lightning on her feet she is not. Sadly, with the three of us and a couple of bags, Taylor just doesn't have what it takes. She tries, she really does, but going up the mountain passes I can't help but chant "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can." and on the downside, "I knew I could! I knew I could! I knew I could! I knew I could!"

She don't mind. She's short and skinny, but she's strong.

Buying a car in New Zealand was a really interesting process. Like anywhere else, there are used car lots, car auction sites, and private listings in the paper and online. In Palmerston North there is also a city parking lot where private sellers can park their cars with a listing. As we were preparing to buy, we kept cruising the lot looking to see what was on offer. In the end, I almost bought something from an auction site unseen and without a test drive. Just before I did, Kari cruised the lot one last time and sent me photos of a car that had just shown up.

It's a 1996 Nissan Terrano (Pathfinder in the U.S. and Canada) with a standard transmission and a lot of km's on the odometer, but it's a 4x4 diesel and had just recently passed a Warrant Of Fitness. I spoke with the mechanics who service the hospital motor-pool and for a nominal fee they agreed to take a look at it for me. Despite the dents, dings, scrapes, and re-welds, the car is surprisingly mechanically sound. It's not pretty and lots of plastic bits and pieces are broken or missing. I got it cheap for a reason (4 new tyres weren't much less than what I paid for the vehicle itself), and that suits us just fine. When we leave here in 8 months, I'm not going to be upset if we can't re-sell it for much.

This story isn't really about buying a car, though; it's about who we bought the car from and the society we live in.

New Zealand has led the rest of the world in establishing the rights of its citizens in several important ways. In 1893, New Zealand was the first country to establish universal suffrage, and in 1899 was the first country to establish the 8-hour work day. The Old Age Pension Act was signed in 1898 and was only the second such act in the world behind Germany (1889). Unfortunately, like many countries, New Zealand doesn't always live up to its highest ideals.

The Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1840 by representatives of the British Crown and Maori chiefs, is the founding document for relations between Maori and the Crown. It gave the British sovereignty over New Zealand and recognised Maori ownership of their lands and other properties, in addition to giving Maori the rights of British subjects. It was written in two languages and the two versions differ in significant ways. As a result, there has been disagreement surrounding what the Treaty actually entails. The Waitangi Tribunal, a permanent commission of inquiry, was formed in 1975 to research breaches of the Treaty and suggest resolutions.

New Zealand has an annual refugee quota of 750 people and they have been under public pressure, both at home and abroad, to expand this.

Caveat - I am unable to source raw data to confirm the validity of this information

We bought our car from an Afghan refugee. No, really ...

I didn't know he was a refugee when we first met. I called the number posted for the car and spoke with a very pleasant man. We agreed on a time to meet and take the car for a test drive. The car seemed to drive well and the price was right, so I was definitely interested. My knowledge of internal combustion engines and the machinery surrounding them is limited at best, so I wanted to have the car inspected by a mechanic before I bought it. We arranged to drop the car off at the shop and I offered to buy him a coffee. Sitting in the coffee shop, he told me his story.

He fled Afghanistan, making the dangerous journey through South Asia and eventually settling in Indonesia. From Indonesia, he registered for refugee status in Australia. It took a few years, but he was eventually accepted to apply as a refugee in Australia. Unfortunately, as part of a background check, it was found that he was friends with an illegal money launderer, scuttling his chances. In desperation, he attempted a dangerous boat crossing to Australia hoping to land there and claim asylum. He was caught and returned to Indonesia. This essentially ended any hope of ever making it to Australia legally.

He put his head down and went to work as a baker in Indonesia where he met his future wife, eventually got married and had a child. Along the way, he applied to New Zealand but was told that since he was married to an Indonesian he would need to remain there. He continued to work hard in Indonesia and became an advocate for refugees there. His case was featured in a documentary, bringing his situation to the attention of an advocate who went to bat for him. After almost 10 years in Indonesia, he and his family were awarded a spot in New Zealand. In New Zealand, he has taken whatever work he can get. At one point, he was collecting feral sheep and cattle from the bush, hard and dangerous work. His talent and passion is as a "panel beater" (auto body-shop) and he is currently looking for employment in that field. He also continues to advocate for other refugees.

I have always taken pride in my resilience in the face of adversity, but the reality is that my life has been pretty charmed without any real hardship. I sat in amazement listening to this man's story and I couldn't imagine the devastation he fled and the fear he must have experienced. We talk a lot about "heroes" and "bravery" in our culture. The quiet, soft-spoken, humble man with whom I was sharing a coffee was bravery personified.

Kari ...

During my childhood, a priority for my parents was to expose my brother and me to different cultures This came with some ease, since we grew up in Houston, Texas, a sprawling metropolis with never ending culture and diverse ethnic groups. To supplement exposure at home, we traveled. It wasn't always international travel, as you can travel from one region to the next domestically and have a vastly different experience of the culture of that region. This exposure is very important and imperative to me as we raise Little H. Those who know us well know that we value traveling outside of our "bubble" and seeking unique opportunities within our "bubble".

One of the more important reasons driving our adventure in New Zealand is our desire for that exposure, not only for Little H, but for Grant and me, as we continue to learn and grow. Little did I know that Palmerston North would be a banquet for diversity; not just with the mix of Maori and European Kiwis, but with the influx of numerous ethnic groups drawn to the city for Massey University and the pockets of refugees that New Zealand has graciously taken under wing.

Since I am not working during this year abroad, I have sought out opportunities to meet and learn from the seemingly unlimited, and most times free, community events and workshops sponsored and supported by the city. On one such outing, Little H and I went on a field trip to a local environmental centre. With the exception of about ten others, the chartered bus was full of refugees from Bhutan, Syria, and Afghanistan. Most of them didn't speak English, and I also didn't speak their language. The glorious and uplifting thing about this is that it didn't matter. Laughter, smiling and experiencing a day together doesn't need verbal communication. It was one of the best experiences I have had here.

Via Facebook, which those who know me would attest to my constant communication, dare I say addiction, I have kept in contact with the environmental centre's organizer and some of the local organizations that support refugee resettlement. This is how I learned about the Valentine's Day dinner to support the Afghanistan refugee community here. We are not ones to celebrate this overly commercialized day anyway, so I thought it was a great way to support the community and expose Little H to even more diversity.  I couldn't have been more proud of her. She didn't hesitate to try the various courses offered that evening and continually commented and asked questions about the dress, food, and overall culture of the Afghans who planned, prepared, cooked and served our meal. We even saw and spoke to familiar faces and friends who we have met during other social interactions around the city.

Travel and exposure to those who are different from you is imperative. I believe it develops altruism and helps fend off egocentrism. Understanding and acknowledging the differences that make up this beautiful, and sometimes ugly world, helps cultivate an open mind. This is what I want for Little H. Always seek out those who are different and discover ways to integrate and accept those differences, all the while forming stronger bonds with your brothers and sisters of this world.

We had a "Meet The Teacher" pool party and sausage sizzle at Little Highstead's school the same night as the dinner (I guess Valentine's Day isn't that big of a deal here), so we were a little late to the church. Most of the tables were pretty full but we spotted some empty seats and wound our way over to them. As we sat down and I turned to say "hello" to everyone else at the table, I found myself face to face with the man from whom I had just purchased a car. He has continued his work advocating for and helping refugees here in Palmy, and he was invited to provide some of the evening's entertainment. While we were eating, he was up on stage playing an ektara and singing.

Ultimately, this was a fundraiser for the Manawatu Reuniting Refugee Family Trust. It's an organization that provides money for former refugees already resettled in our area and helps them bring immediate family members to New Zealand. At the end of the night, we didn't go home empty handed; we bid on, and won, a tasty bottle of New Zealand wine that we plan to share with my brother and SIL when they come to visit in a few weeks.

Ka kite ano ...