Witters from Down Under

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Frenchbean's New Zealand Witters banner

Having moved from Scotland to Australia in 2005 to find out if she had fallen in love with the country as well as her husband a decade ago, she decided that the answer was 'yes' and intended to stay.


However life has always had a marvellous way of changing her best-laid plans. And it happened again. An unexpected work opportunity presented itself in mid-2008: one too good to miss.


As a result the Witter from Down Under is now coming from the land of the long white cloud - New Zealand.

Please join us and read Frenchbean's commentary on a new country, a new city, a new job and new friends.

Walking Upside-down

Hello Everybody smiley - smiley

To mark the 9th birthday of The Post I decided to think about what was happening to me nine years ago and reflect on how that has shaped today.

Well, suffice it to say that nine years ago my life was undergoing a dramatic – and unsought – change as a result of the death of my husband from cancer. I'm sure you'll understand that I don't much want to dwell on that. However, his presence and his departure from my life led to fundamental shifts in my perception about what's important and how to appreciate every moment I'm sentient on this earth.

My life is Down Under as a direct result of my husband. So I have decided to celebrate this 9th birthday with some of the reasons, nine years on and without the man, I continue to choose to be an upside-down-walker: an Antipodean.

The space to breathe...

Wherever you are in the UK, you are Somewhere. Every tract of land has a name and recorded history; visible human intervention; even myths and legends attached to it.

In the Antipodes (Australia in particular) you really can be Nowhere: no obvious land ownership; no obvious human influence on the land; no name on the map, if indeed you can locate yourself on the map at all; and often no landscape features from which to get your bearings.

The closest UK analogy would be to drive the long haul of the M6 between Carlisle and Birmingham... in the dark... on Christmas Day. Next to nobody else on the road, nothing to look at and no reason to stop except to snooze or have a cuppa.

You can arrive at your destination here having done next to nothing except steer the car. The odd wildlife sighting is an event, as is a good cloud formation or a rain shower along the way.

Nothing much happens in Nowhere. And what is more thought provoking, usually nobody knows you're there. Standing in Nowhere I am the tiniest speck on the surface of the world. It daunts me. So much so that I eventually run for somewhere; to be somebody again.

As a result of Nowhere I am more comfortable in relatively populous places, where landscapes are more intimate and homely. The maps show road networks, land division and other indicators of human habitation. I love Nowhere, but I can't imagine living there.

The challenge to my innate sense of direction...

I am proud of the fact that I have an in-built sense of direction and can find my way off the bleakest and most featureless mountain, just as long as I have an idea of the sun's location. However, the sun travels from right to left in the Southern Hemisphere, instead of from left to right and I have experienced distressing confusion about my location from time to time.

Think about it: you stand facing the Equator in Britain; the sun rises on the left and sets on the right. Stand facing the Equator in New Zealand and the sun still rises in the east and sets in the west, but they are right and left respectively. The sun goes the other way across the sky.

It took me literally months to work out why I had a) no idea what time of day it was (I rarely wear a watch) and b) couldn't find my way round new places (particularly ones with no landscape landmarks like Chchch). It can be totally disorientating. Now that I've figured it out, I am constantly challenging myself to come up with the answers, and gradually, I'm learning. But I doubt it will ever be as instinctive as my built-in northern hemisphere navigation beacon.

Speaking of which: what will happen when I'm in the north? Will I thankfully revert to my innate ability, or will it be subsumed by the south? Time will tell.

Natural phenomena...

One of the things that I have got used to living Down Under is that everywhere seems to be haunted by the possibility of natural disaster. In Cooktown it was cyclones (indeed I experienced a couple). On the Sunshine Coast it was floods (ditto). Here, it's earthquakes.

This is one of the youngest pieces of land in the world and it sits bang on the convergence between the Australian and Pacific tectonic plates. There is a lot of movement (in geological terms) happening all the time. We are in constant earthquake readiness and all buildings have to be constructed to strict standards.

I'm used to thinking about a survival box because we packed one a few times in Cooktown and Cairns. When the phones go down, the electricity and water are off and the only communication is to listen to a radio, there are a whole lot of useful things to have at the ready.

Whilst these impacts are common no matter what the disaster, there is a fundamental difference here: there will be no warning whatsoever before an earthquake. So I need to have an emergency kit packed and ready at all times.

The local Civil Defence website recommends the following:

  • a battery-operated or wind-up radio so that you can listen out for information about disaster relief measures, with spare batteries.
  • a battery-operated flashlight, with spare bulb and batteries
  • a box of at least a dozen candles
  • a new, unused gas lighter
  • a first aid kit
  • water purification tablets
  • food and water for three days
  • a can opener
  • primus to cook on
  • copies of passport, drivers license, marriage and birth certificates
  • soap and towel
  • spare pants (!)
  • sleeping bag or blankets
  • rainproof clothing

The advice that this lot should be kept in a water-tight biscuit tin is rather unrealistic. It's not a kit. It's a camping trip.

Mid-summer Christmas...

I have never been a great fan of Christmas and I particularly hate the glitzy, over-promising, over-commercial mid-winter fantasy that seems to dominate every aspect of British life from mid-October onwards.

It is a lot harder to get excited about, indeed to even notice, Christmas lights when it's still daylight at 9pm. And in temperature soaring into the 30s, it's very difficult to think about snow, red fluffy Santa hats and enormous roast dinners.

It suits me perfectly. Christmas should be about family and friends, not about over-consumption and boosting the profits of the local shops and card manufacturers.

My ideal Christmas was one spent on the yacht, anchored on the Great Barrier Reef, fishing for crays and coral trout, cooking them up on the barby and washing them down with an ice-cold bottle of bubbly. Heaven.

Living outdoors...

It is not only the climate in the Antipodes that encourages us to live an outdoor life; it is the culture to do so. The NZ climate might be considered less congenial than Australia's to being outside from dawn to dusk. However there are remarkably few people indoors, unless they have to be behind their desks and computers.

Barbies are just as much a Kiwi tradition as an Australian one. As are days on the beach, surfing. 'Tramping' is hugely popular in NZ, presumably because the wildlife hazards are none-existent. (There is always the fear in Australia that a snake or spider will snap at you and end your walk prematurely: it makes for extreme caution.)

It is a joy to breathe fresh air, to live with windows and doors open, to avoid central heating (although I may regret that comment in the winter) and hermetically sealed houses.

I could also tell you about the water not going down the plughole the other way (an urban myth), the fact that many Poms really do whinge, and the relaxed way of living. I could talk about the extraordinary exploits of early pioneers in these former British colonies. And I could burble on quite a bit about the cultures of the indigenous and first peoples, which are fascinating and deserve great respect.

But I shan't. I'll leave those things for you to discover if you ever come here.

It's worth the trip, I promise. Just make sure that you're prepared to be bitten by the upside-down-walkers. I'm hooked, for sure.

Ain't life grand?

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Frenchbean

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