Posts with tag: lifestyle

Letters from the Southern Man

Migrating is more than just filling in forms and submitting paperwork, its a complex process that will test even the most resilient of people. 

Understanding New Zealand is paramount to your immigration survival and to give you a realistic view of the country, its people and how we see the world, read our weekly Southern Man blogs. Often humorous, sometimes challenging, but always food for thought.

Otago Rail Trail

 

This time last week I was in Central Otago, one of my favourite places on the planet let alone New Zealand.

A group of six of us were off to ride the Otago Rail Trail. Formerly the railway line linking Dunedin to the Otago gold fields the railway was shut down in 1992. Someone came up with the idea of ripping up the tracks and providing a surface suitable for walkers, cyclists and horse riders. And so in February 2000 the 150km Rail Trail was launched.

We began this adventure with two days in Queenstown where we ate wonderful food, drank some of the finest wines produced in New Zealand and when not imbibing wine,  sat sipping local boutique beers mesmerized by the view. 

I realised why the view looks so different in Central Otago and it is not just the local architecture, vineyards, soaring mountain peaks, lakes and rivers, it is the lack of moisture in the air that lends a clarity. We Aucklanders are surrounded by warm oceans and as a consequence are used to high levels of humidity (and on days when there is no wind, smog) with moisture laden air. This creates  a haze you don’t get in Queenstown and Central Otago.  

Our brief but enjoyable stay in Queenstown was followed by a night in the Dunstan Hotel in Clyde which was our starting point for the Trail ride.  I felt like I was in a movie set.  An old gold mining town that at its peak had 42 pubs (it now has one) and a resident population of over 30,000 people (it now has 900) that had entered a seemingly terminal decline until the rail trail brought it back to life as a tourist destination and start (or end) point for the walkers, cyclists and horse riders that pass through.

This old two storied hotel was a rundown backpackers until the current owners renovated and restored it around seven years ago operating it now as a bed and breakfast. Authentic in the extreme and true to its past but now with showers and flushing toilets…

What followed was three days in the saddle on mountain bikes. A little wary of ‘saddlebum’ I asked about the need for gel seat covers when we picked up our bikes. The guy who rented the bikes to us reckoned “only pussies need them” so being the tough guy I thought I was I didn’t rent one. Well, miaow……I was wishing within 48 hours I not only had a gel seat cover to sit on but a big fluffy pillow under my bum to boot! 

There is something about bikes – the freedom they offer, the exhilaration you feel as you free wheel down a hill; the things you see because you are travelling more slowly – dew soaked spider webs in the morning, a brown grasshopper sitting on a grass stalk, a New Zealand falcon riding the thermals looking for his next meal and a skink scuttling off his basking rock as your shadow passes over him. And the smells as your tyre crunches over the wild thyme, of grasses and dust and in this case the odd dead sheep all smelled strangely intoxicating. 

I confess I felt like a ten year old once again the first morning riding beside the Clyde River, round Poplar trees which were turning a rich gold colour as autumn settles in the valley and through piles of leaves that were accumulating on the path. What great fun to stop every now and then at local wineries for wine tasting (didn’t do that when I was ten).

Another bonus was apple trees gone wild. All along the trail apple trees grow. Thrown from passing trains decades ago some of the seeds sprouted providing free juicy apples. fresh fast food at its finest.

A stop at an unmanned  fruit stall with its ‘Honesty Box’ outside of Alexandra where I left my  money in a jar in exchange for $5 worth of the freshest sun ripened strawberries  was a real treat. They were quite possibly the plumpest and sweetest I have ever eaten.

The thing that really got me apart from the vastness of the countryside was the lack of sound. Like all children of cities I am comfortable around noise.  Immersed in the constant urban sounds provided by cars, buses, fire engines, ambulances and police cars I realise when these sounds are not swirling about me I don’t feel totally comfortable. 

Out on the trail there is a lot of ‘scrunching’ as the bike tyres roll over the stones and gravel and after that there isn’t a lot to hear.

There are poignant moments on every journey and one of mine came shortly after leaving Wedderburn on the second day of our ride. Having puffed and panted my way up yet another gently sloping part of the trail I stopped to enjoy the view. My riding companions were spread out ahead and behind me so it was just me, the sky, an early autumn sun, the gentlest of breezes,  a whole lot of brown tussock and a few sheep spread all the way to the horizon. I had the whole of the Maniatoto Plains to myself for a good five minutes.

The sun was fair beating down given it was the early afternoon and I was surrounded on all sides by what are called ‘Ranges’; not big enough to be classified as mountains but far higher than your typical hill.  What is labelled in these parts as ‘High Country’.  The fields seemed to go on forever. The light was pure. The view dominated by rust and blue.

I decided to do something I never do in Auckland.

I lay my bike down and just listened.

The first sound I was conscious of was the whisper of a breeze.  Far off I heard the faint sounds of birds.  Crickets chirped in their thousands in the grasslands from my feet to the hills (and no doubt beyond).  A bee then flew across the path in front of me.

And that was it.

Nothing else. It was utterly peaceful. And utterly sublime. 

Central Otago is classified as semi-arid with rainfall of less than 350mm a year or for those of you using the imperial system that’s about 13 inches. The farmers pray for rain. Away from the river fed valleys the soils are traditionally poor making it ideal for producing wine and the grape of choice is Pinot Noir although many of the local vineyards do a pretty good Pinot Gris as well. If you are into wine this patch of NZ is heaven on a stick (or in a bottle). 

The landscape is dominated by mountain tussock of various varieties interspersed with grass for the sheep, cattle and deer that are raised through here. In many parts Thyme grows wild among the cracked and flaking schist. 

Through many parts of this journey I half expected to see a rhino or two, herds of Impala and possibly a Zulu village or three as it looked and felt exactly like parts of Kwa Zulu Natal in South Africa.

We saw it at its best perhaps because we enjoyed it at its most climatically comfortable – not too hot and not too cold. Being there in early autumn we were told is the best time to ride the trail because there is little to no wind. This is important for here the wind can blow fiercely – it races down off the mountains and is dry and hot (think Berg wind you South Africans). Swapping stories with friends the other night who have also completed the trail they got a couple of intensely windy days and one of their sons was literally blown off his bike. No damage done but a good laugh was had by all. 

As I have spent my life explaining to so many would be New Zealanders it doesn’t rain all the time everywhere in this magical country of ours. Just through the mountains where we were basking in the heat the west coast of the South Island was almost certainly being rained upon. Over that side of the mountains rainfall is usually measured in the thousands of millimetres. Yet the massive mountain range that is the Southern Alps blocks the moist westerly airflow meaning by the time the weather cells pass over Central Otago and Canterbury they are spent and a parched thirsty landscape sits yellow-brown from horizon to horizon.

The temperature extremes are quite extraordinary.  Even last week we would get up in the morning to temperatures of only 3-4 degrees. On went the thermal, the tee shirt, the merino hoodie and the wind breaker. Within half an hour of hitting the trail the wind breaker was off, within an hour the merino was stowed, by lunch the thermal was packed away and by 2pm I was cycling only in shorts given the temperature was 23 degrees in the shade which would make it at least 30 degrees in the sun.

Many people avoid riding the trail in summer (January and February) given it is usually over 30 degrees in the shade and well over 40 degrees in the sun. Plentiful pubs and the cool rivers would be welcome relief I am sure for those brave enough to cycle in such heat.

Along the way we had a night at Waipiata which holds the record for one of the coldest ever temperatures recorded on mainland New Zealand – minus 23 degrees Celsius in 1995. By contrast it is regularly 35 degrees plus in summer.  This is a part of New Zealand that occasionally gets a hoar frost – where the moisture in the air actually freezes – making for scenes straight out of Narnia. 

It really is a magical place. Harsh for sure but peaceful in a uniquely New Zealand way. I’d recommend it to anyone who lives here or is passing through.

Over the three days spent on the bikes we covered 163 km. My advice to any of you that might fancy this adventure is you need to be moderately fit (but no more), it would be great with children but I’d probably want them to be 10 years old or older, you can do it over 4-6 days and best of all it is free.

Do it. You will love it.

Don't forget I'll be giving free seminars coming in Singapore this weekend and Malaysia the following weekend and Paul will be in South Africa in two weeks. 

Until next week.

Southern Man - Iain MacLeod

 

Bikes, Bums & Early Auckland

 

I spend so much time overseas exploring other people’s countries that I spend precious little time exploring and enjoying my own.  And I’d be lying if I didn’t say that saddens me a bit.

Having a beach house doesn’t help. Don’t get me wrong and I don’t want to sound like some pretentious prat but when you have access to a beach house you tend to want to spend your time there to the exclusion of spending that precious leisure time elsewhere. 

So it is both a real blessing disappearing regularly to your favourite part of paradise but equally it can be a little restrictive.

So, I have decided that this year I am going to see more of New Zealand and have two trips planned to Central Otago this year – one to Queenstown to play golf in November and on the immediate horizon I am really excited at the prospect of spending the next week completing the Otago Rail Trail with my wife and a few close friends.

This involves mountain bikes, plenty of pub stops, mind blowing scenery and I suspect a rather sore bum.

If you haven’t been to Central Otago add it to your must see list. It is barren, rocky and always brown because in most parts it receives less than 100mm of rain a year.  It is like the Great Karoo in South Africa meets Afghanistan (without the roadside bombs) or Iran without the Mullahs.  It is New Zealand’s ‘high country’ where the plains meet the sky and the air is so clear mountains tens of kilometres away look like you can reach out and touch them, where the sky is so big and so wide it makes you feel insignificant and the size of an ant. It is a place where the weather is sunny and hot in summer and sunny and cold in winter.

Luckily we will be there when it is neither extreme and we are set to enjoy early autumn which will offer lovely warm days with daytime temperatures in the low to mid 20s Celsius but very cold nights with temperatures as low as 2-5 degrees. 

With the changing seasons there is some chance of snow up in the mountains but that is highly unlikely (I sincerely hope so because we can only take 10kgs of luggage and I am an Aucklander and don’t possess ‘snow clothes’).

Perfect for golf. We’ll see about mountain bikes.

I will report back on this next week if I can.

One of the attractions of Central Otago for me is that it is so full of history and represents a region of the country that has been settled by Europeans and a few keen Chinese longer than most other parts. Sparsely occupied (if at all) by Maori when gold was discovered in the early 19th century the population exploded when the gold rush cranked into life. Given the scarcity of trees in that region the architecture represents a period of Victorian England meets often poor but eternally hopeful gold prospectors and settlers and many of the old cob and stone buildings that are still standing have been turned into boutique hotels, B and Bs and the like.

As I thought about what we are likely to see next week and enjoy in parts a landscape and New Zealand heritage little changed in 150 years it occurred to me that migrants tend to look forward at the new life that awaits, the city they have landed in and the new country ripe for exploration and seldom do they look back – except in those times of inevitable homesickness especially among the newly arrived. Those that have always lived some place often look back in time and at our history to better understand who we are and what made us and our world view what it is.

As a self-confessed history junkie I have been reading a wonderful book these past few days by local Journalist Gordon McGlaughlan.  Its title is ‘Auckland – A Life and Times’ and as a sort of ‘Brief History of…’ is fascinating and well worth reading for those who have an interest in my home town, why it is here, who settled it and the forces, both natural and human that have shaped it to become what it is.

It is full of wonderful facts and insights. 

As a keen geographer and Aucklander I have always been aware of the massive ‘reclamation’ that went on during the 1800s of Auckland’s foreshore. The soft sandstone cliffs in many parts were levelled by pick and shovel, sometimes explosives and carted down the faces barrow load by barrow load to create, through the destruction of some beautiful bays, flat land for the rapidly growing port and commercial activity. This book has allowed me to roll back the years in my mind to a place and time when the rail lines and yards, the wharves, many of the coastal roads and blocks of high rise buildings were not there and picture a place where in the 1830s only a tented ‘city’ existed. Where streams flowed down the valleys of bracken covered hills, slowed and accumulated in swamps of reed and raupo, where eels swam and freshwater crayfish hid among the rocks before the waters that sustained them flowed into the sea through mangroves and coastal estuaries.

Fascinatingly for a city that enjoys more than its fair share of rain one of the biggest constraints on the early city was the availability of fresh water. How ironic after the wet, seeming ‘summerless’, summer we Aucklanders have just had. Although in the 1830s there were only 1500-2000 people living in Auckland fresh water sources quickly became polluted and undrinkable.

There were during those early years only a few sources – the stream known as Horotiu to local Maori that ran down from the ridge along the valley now covered by Queen Street was the most important. Queen Street for those of you who have not walked it is our main Central City road that starts at the ridge now dominated by Karangahape Road at its southern end and which ends at Customs Street which crosses it a block away from the harbour.

About two thirds of the way to the harbour this stream pooled in a large swamp about where Aotea Square and a massive underground carpark is now. It then meandered down through the valley before once again entering  a wetland and mixing with the gentle tides that lap this harbour.

Now that same stream is imprisoned in large concrete pipes that feed storm water and the remnants of the steam itself into the Waitemata Harbour.

As I type this I am looking out over Queen Street from my office and imagining a landscape not covered in high rise buildings but a valley cut by Horotiu and guarded by two gently chiselled hills which once would have looked like any valley in this part of the North Island – towering Podocarp forests of Totara and probably Kauri - that most majestic of trees. With Tui, Kereru (native wood pigeon), kaka (native parrot) and all manner of birds wheeling and diving over and through the canopy. At some point Kiwi would have been poking and prodding the ground looking for fat native earthworms.

Now we have glass, concrete and tarmac and the nearest thing to fauna are flocks of pigeons that strut and preen on the window eaves of the oldest buildings that overlook Horotiu’s final resting place.

I have also learned that in the middle of Auckland University (about ten minutes walk from our offices) there exists to this day a fresh water spring which continues to flow with the clearest water that has been filtered over hundreds if not thousands of years by the volcanic rocks of the region. 

It is now piped directly into the city’s storm water system which seems a real waste. A clean source of the freshest Aotearoa H2O not being consumed by the good folk of Auckland and thirsty University students is a real shame.

Another major source of fresh water came from a spring that bubbled its way up through the scoria on the northern slopes of that iconic volcanic cone I have written of before, Maungawhau or Mount Eden, and then wound its way down toward what would become Newmarket to collect in a large swamp in what is now Khyber Pass (another imprisoned stream). It was here the first of the big breweries set up shop and until recently, produced some of the world’s finest beers. They needed that fresh water.

It’s funny when you so take for granted the landscape you view daily to stop and consider occasionally what it once looked like. To consider that the water that comes from the tap that you do not think twice about would only 150 years ago have been thought of as an absolute luxury.

Each Aucklander today consumes around 300 litres of water. From about 1830-1850 in Auckland everyone relied on buckets and springs or rainwater. A wash would have been hands and face and a jug and wash basin. It is recorded most of the local population washed every six weeks. I can imagine how nice they’d have been to stand beside on a baking hot summer day in Auckland. No thanks…..

We lost Horotiu but gained personal hygiene.

And next week I am going to see a part of New Zealand that has changed little since the last Ice Age.

Can’t wait.

Until next week

Southern Man - Iain MacLeod

Why does policy discriminate against parents?

I am often asked to explain the New Zealand Government’s seeming aversion to allowing permanent entry to parents of already settled migrants.

It is easy to explain. It is harder to defend.

At the moment I am involved in at least one case where an elderly widowed parent wishes to remain in New Zealand with her only daughter who settled here a few years ago as a skilled migrant. Mum has lived with this daughter, her husband and grandsons for over 20 years since the passing of her own husband. They all moved to New Zealand together – Mum on a Visitor Visa and the rest of the family with Residence Visas already in their passports.

They have continued to live together with what they all identify as their primary family unit ever since.

Unfortunately for her, she still has two sons living in her ‘home’ country and therefore she fails the centre of gravity test which requires her to have the same number or more adult children living in New Zealand than in any other country, including the ‘home’ country.

Although these two sons are in no position financially and indeed geographically to have her live with them, policy takes no account of this.

The rationale for this policy and its restrictions are clear – New Zealand has an aging population and the older we get the greater the cost to the public health system in particular. I know this – thanks to a private meeting I had with a Minister of Immigration a few years ago when they were reviewing and considering dumping the policy.

My question to the Minister at the time was ‘Minister you can tell me what the average public health spend is per annum on a 75 year old, but can you tell me what the gross economic, not to mention social benefit, is when you consider what the children of these parents bring to New Zealand i.e. the combined big picture?”

The answer was ‘No Iain, there have been no studies into that.”

So in a nutshell then, Government can tell us the cost of parents but cannot quantify the benefits. Either economic or social.

It is interesting that the Australians have a policy that allows widowed or divorced parents to be included in their offspring’s General Skill application (the equivalent of our Skilled Migrant Category). The catch is that if the parent is found to not meet an acceptable standard of health then everyone is rejected and the application is declined.

Fair enough in my view. Nice to see the Aussies taking a more practical and humanitarian approach to the issue.

The fact is if we had the same policy, New Zealand would likely get two skilled migrants, their children and one grandparent as a package deal.

The inclusion of the grandparent allows both their children to go out and find work. Grandma is usually going to act as a secondary caregiver taking the financial pressure off their children in terms of costly day care. It allows the state to receive taxes from both the two adult migrants who work. And these taxes should not be under estimated. If both are earning the average annual salary of $50,000 then the Government is picking up close to $16,000 a year in taxes. If Grandma was healthy and remains so she is not going to be a net user of the public health system for many years, if ever, given the incredibly high standard of health all migrants to New Zealand must demonstrate.

Of course if Grandma is healthy she may well wish to go to work herself, even on a part time basis, and therefore contributing directly to the public finances of which she will one day become a recipient of.

In the case of my client she is a registered (in NZ) nurse and has in fact been working despite her age. Her skills continue to be in demand and we have kept her in New Zealand so far on Essential Skills Work Visas despite her age.

An approach to the Minister to grant an exception to the requirement to have the same or more children in New Zealand, notwithstanding the clear economic argument, was rejected.

Unfortunately the Minister clearly found no reason to even consider the humanitarian aspects of the case – the primary family unit for this applicant has been her daughter and son-in-law since her husband died over 20 years ago.

Of course a great many parents also are independently wealthy – bringing with them pensions and other capital to fund their housing and day to day needs – often preferring to have private medical insurance to having to rely on the public health system (despite its quality). 

What would be wrong with some sort of means test? We do it for those seeking two year temporary Retirement Visas. We even demand that they hold medical insurance during their temporary stay in New Zealand. If we can accommodate that why can’t we demand the same of parents? I know many of my clients would happily agree to hold comprehensive medical insurance as the price of entry.

I am not arguing here for open slather on parents. I also know, off the record, that this, and the previous Government’s, real issue is China’s one child policy. For every skilled migrant we get from that country we are usually going to end up with two sets, of often poor parents.

I am arguing for policy to at least be able to consider cases like this which have a clear and demonstrable economic as well as social benefit to New Zealand.

Why not have some other criteria such as minimum net worth (I am not suggesting it has to be brought to New Zealand) that migrant parents can draw on if they choose. Limit their access to the public health system (they are like everyone physically in New Zealand covered by our no faults public health insurance scheme). If we had these criteria clearly stated up front, parents and their skilled migrant children would know the parameters required for gaining entry and what their future costs and responsibilities would be.

I can just hear the policy wonks in Wellington sighing as they read this. They will be thinking, yeah so we let them in and say they have to hold medical insurance but five years later they lose everything and can no longer afford it – are we meant to chuck them out?

Well to that line of argument, I would argue the case of a client of mine who got her Residence Visa recently in apparently good (and well tested) health got to New Zealand and was within a few months diagnosed with cancer and has had, and will continue to have, all her treatment covered by the state system. No one is talking of chucking her out. Given breast cancer affects one in eight women, no one is seriously arguing we stop all sexually mature adult females migrating to New Zealand, despite the clear financial risk of doing so.

Ultimately parents have a valuable role to play in strengthening the families they may well have been a part of in the home country when the three generations move to New Zealand.

Right now the attitude of this Government is that my client should leave.  If that means her daughter and son-in-law go with her that is their problem.

Not only is that incredibly cruel, it is short sighted in the extreme given the clear economic benefits of keeping them all in New Zealand and it is an intellectually weak argument. It is a policy built on one factor – future potential health costs – which can be mitigated by a few tweaks of the policy.

We do it with other migrants – why don’t we start doing it with parents?

Until next week

Southern Man - Iain MacLeod

Matapouri and Mermaid Pools

 

Happy New Year and can I take this opportunity of wishing you all the very best for 2012.

So where to begin with this, my first Letter from New Zealand in 2012? 

We could talk immigration policy, pass marks and so on but that would be a bit dull.

Although I have only been away for three weeks it seems like months. Over my summer (such as summer has been up this end of the country this year) I once again realised that the more time I spend travelling around this country the more I appreciate how lucky my family and I were being born here. And I love to share it with you…….

I couldn’t get out of the office fast enough toward the end of December. For Immagine NZ, 2011 was most definitely a year of two halves. The first presented difficult trading conditions given the ongoing (but still unofficial) cuts to migrant numbers and the difficulties many potential clients continued to experience selling up their homes in order to free up the cash to make migrating possible, but the second half was strong with December being our best in 23 years. Either world property markets are starting to free up or people are just a little more desperate to get somewhere civilised and are taking whatever equity they can extract from their houses and just doing it. Possibly before things get worse.

We appear to have hit the ground running in 2012 with a busy first week. Having a working knowledge of the crazy Australian General Skills Category and related visa categories has allowed us to offer clients greater ‘offerings’ and as I have mentioned before I enjoy using Australia as a backdoor to New Zealand as it often presents a far less complex visa pathway than coming directly to New Zealand. 

I want to tell you a little more about a special part of New Zealand where my family and I spent a few days last week with close friends.

Matapouri Bay. Shortly after finishing posting this I am heading back up there for a few more days (the sun is out – what am I to do?) to pick up my youngest son and enjoy a friend’s 50th  birthday tonight. Alfresco dining under a balmy summer sky, big trestle tables with brightly coloured tablecloths groaning under a heavy load of barbequed meats and seafood, with crisp salads prepared from local gardens, sweet hot summer corn dripping in melted butter, lit by large candles , a few beers and wine – I cannot wait!

For me there is nothing like spending time around a barbeque (braai to our South African friends) at night with close friends and family, a good local boutique brewery produced beer or world class local wine in one hand eating the best of the local produce and kai moana (seafood) with the other. 

The fishing, when the weather has allowed, has been fantastic the past few weeks. They are biting and biting hard and we have eaten and given away many a good sized snapper over the past ten days. So many I confess I am almost all fished out. Catching and consuming I mean. Well, almost…….

Matapouri is an absolute gem. If I could upload a few photos to The Letter you could see what I am talking about but as I can’t(!) you will need to rely on http://www.tutukakacoastnz.com/matapouri-bay/ in the meantime. Check it out.

A smallish coastal village about two and a half hours drive north of Auckland on the East coast (my favourite side of the island) this sickle shaped bay is protected from the open ocean that lies beyond its two headlands. An estuary flows out at one end and is guarded by mangrove forests which are the spawning grounds for many types of inshore fish including sharks (yes, really), home to sting rays and provide predator free nesting sites for many native birds. The headlands are covered in dense native forest.

Last Thursday we took a walk around the northern end of the bay to visit and swim in the (locally famous) Mermaid Pools. Virtually inaccessible to all but mountain goats and very determined humans the afternoon began with a wander though a reserve covered in regenerating and mature native forest. The sun was out and the humidity was high as it always is at this time of year. It was a 25 degree day and the humidity was probably around 90%. The enormous trees acting to keep the sun off us also provided thick, sultry warm air – the type you can feel when you breathe it in.  With the village on one side and steep forested hills on the other, a great track has been carved into the soft dark soils by the local Council making the initial climb somewhat comfortable but none the less by the time we got to the top of the first hill after perhaps 10 minutes the heart was pumping pretty hard.

From the top we enjoyed a spectacular view north all the way up to Cape Brett (home to the Hole in the Rock for those of you that have been to the Bay of Islands) which was shimmering blue on a distant horizon. Five minutes or so of further walking along the ridge we arrived at the first lookout and rest stop. Picture sheer cliffs on both sides of you with trees clinging by their root systems (if they were humans I’d be thinking toenails) and a drop of probably 100 metres to the roiling sea, whitecaps and swells generated by a strong ocean breeze lining up to throw themselves at the shoreline. The two metre swells crashed against the craggy greywacke rocks that lined the pebble strewn beaches. Below us Gannets wheeled and dived into the bay, like bunker busting bombs, popping up to the surface with a plump wiggling silver fish in their beaks more often than not. A cooling breeze demanded rest and a few holiday snapshots.

We set off along the trail again and as we walked stole glimpses of the ocean to our left. Sheep grazed in the fields to our right – the old New Zealand and the new. I definitely prefer the old.

Having picked our way down onto the sand dunes we enjoyed a different assortment of native plants – the sand was covered in native flax and blankets of grasses with seed pods that look and feel like rabbits’ tails waving in the breeze.

Then up the next headland and on toward the Mermaid Pools. I suspect this headland is an abandoned Maori pa (fortified village). What appeared to be old kumara (sweet potato) pits were dotted throughout this forest but now trees grow where once the food was stored. These sorts of headlands were popular with Maori as they were easy to defend thanks to their extremely (death defying actually) steep slopes. So steep in places we were hauling ourselves up for 30 metres on (and between) the twisted root systems of ancient Pohutukawa trees and thinking crampons may have been the order of the day! Saplings provided handholds. You hoped like hell you didn’t slip.

When we got to the top and had caught our breath I marvelled at the power of nature to take back what is hers when we leave her to it. Now covered in regenerating forest of Nikau palms, Karaka and Kowhai trees the light filtered through and provided us with an explosion of differently hued greens courtesy of the trees around us. The ground was thick with seedlings wherever there was enough light and I stopped and collected seeds of some of my favourite native trees for planting back at my beach house.  There was that pleasant, mother earth smell of rainforest – damp soils, sweating vegetation and rotting wood.  

When we emerged on the other side of the summit the view was magnificent – directly out to sea lies the Poor Knights Islands – a marine reserve and one of the top ten dive sites in the world. The sea a deep deep blue, the rocks jagged, intimidating and unforgiving. The spray of the waves as they crashed onto their hardness the purest white. And below us the Mermaid Pools. Two swimming pool size rock pools that lie just above the high tide mark they have only one opening to the ocean. The pools themselves were about 3 metres deep in their middle. Just for a second I thought I saw two mermaids swimming in the largest pool but they turned out to be a couple of female German tourists – close, but no cigar……

We wound our way carefully down the path toward the ocean and the very inviting looking pools. Slipping and sliding, grabbing at the flaxes that lined the path we were being beaten by the sun again but fanned by the ocean breeze. Ahead of us the land disappeared abruptly into the deep churning Pacific Ocean. 

Off with the shirt, Raybans and Fedora and into the pool!

Because the ocean never reaches it but the sea gently flushes it through one narrow opening the water never stagnates and was as clear as any seawater I have ever been in. There were kina (prickly sea eggs) and crabs a plenty. Strands of smooth seaweed provided shelter for tiny fish and shrimp that had been washed in on a passing swell. The walls of the pool were dotted with limpets, cats-eyes and other assorted molluscs. Surrounded by sharp angular rocks the pools themselves were very conveniently full of small motorcar sized boulders covered in a light salmon coloured seaweed. Pale, soft on the feet and very inviting.

A truly wonderful place to cool off.

At the end of the pool where the rock face heads back up the headland is the ‘jumping rock’. It doesn’t – you are meant to.  Wedged like a gargoyle about 20 metres above the deep water below it is a favourite place for teenage lads to impress the girls by jumping, bombing or to really make a statement, dive off. Shades of cliff diving at Acapulco and no less scary. 

Although my days of being interested in impressing teenage girls are far behind me I none the less had to fight the urge to at least make one jump myself. I’ve jumped out of planes enough to think this couldn’t be scarier. Just wetter. However with the words of my far more sensible wife ringing in my ears I resisted the temptation.

A truly amazing spot and one you should try and visit on a hot summer’s day.

As close to paradise as I suspect there is.

On a slightly more mundane and back to work note I am returning to South Africa for seminars in early February. Click here for details. For those of you in Malaysia and Singapore, click here.

Until next week

Iain MacLeod – Southern Man

Year end wrap up!

 

This is my last Southern Man Letter from New Zealand for 2011.

My bags are packed, I’m going to do the family thing and then it is off to the peace and quiet of Lang’s Beach in northland for three weeks of not very much.

What a year it has been.

It began as 2010 finished – uncomfortable trading conditions thanks to our Government’s ongoing (but unofficial) cut in migrant numbers, flat property markets in the countries so many of our migrants are sourced from, fewer people being able to realise the equity in their homes that funds the move to New Zealand, a tight labour market here making the prospect of finding work (often to secure residence) daunting and the uncertainty in the global economy causing many a would be migrant to ask themselves if they were jumping out of a local fire into a New Zealand frying pan.

I can tell you though that it has ended on a very positive note – for us anyway. The last few months have been pretty good. Although we all have to work far harder for our clients given their heightened fears about what they are doing and the risks they are taking I am not aware of any client who did not find work and we haven’t had a residence case declined yet that has meant our ‘money back guarantee’ required a refund.

I suspect 2012 will continue to be challenging given the uncertainty in international markets.

It is funny though how we view the world. This week there was a business headline in the local rag that trumpeted a fall in business confidence in the last quarter of 2011. Reading through the survey what it actually said was ‘I am worried about everyone else’s business but actually we are doing pretty well in our own and think the next year will be better than this year for us’.

This was a typical survey finding over the past two years here. We worry about the economy but feel relaxed about our own prospects. Weird how it works but everyone I know from manufacturing through construction to real estate is feeling positive about the year ahead.

New Zealand remains well placed to ride it out with low Government debt (albeit climbing) and everyone I know doing their utmost to pay down their own private debt.

The next few years will see further reform of the welfare system which is simply too generous to too many people and the public servants will be twitching as Government signals they will have to keep delivering quality ‘service’ with fewer people. Should be interesting!

Our Australian operation, Immagine Australia has made great strides and it has been a lot of fun learning Australian policy (just to prove our own Government policy makers aren’t the only people on Earth who understand little about migration and the realities of labour markets). Really good fun to use Australia as the welcome doormat to New Zealand.

We are looking forward to growing that business through 2012.

And so it ends for another year.

Christmas here is not so much religious any more, it is a day pass from the day job. With summer heating up it marks the first day of a well deserved summer break. Beaches, books, good food and family time. If you are lucky a few days at the beach – its free, its clean and the water warming with every passing day.

For me it is as I say off to the beach house up north. The fishing rods are ready, the new fire pit has the wood stacked in it, the wine is stacked, the freezer full of food.

All that remains is for me to thank my dedicated team of consummate professionals for their efforts this year. Jo, Kay, Chris, Paul and Karina all take this break knowing that not only is it well deserved but they can pat themselves on the back for another year in which they made a real difference to people’s lives. We all know how hard migration is – leaving friends and family, homes. Security, jobs and settling in a new country is never easy and is always stressful. This small but dedicated team takes away so much of the fear and I can but thank them all and salute them on behalf of all our clients.

And to finish on a lighter note a Christmas ditty put together by Paul. I promise it won’t fry your computer but will bring a smile to your face.

http://sendables.jibjab.com/view/KYzYHLJm15Q8DbQCZOWG

Take care, look after yourselves, have as Merry Christmas and all the best for 2012.

Until, well, next year

 

Iain MacLeod - Southern Man

 

Elections and Imbeciles

 

We have just had our national elections and as expected the centre right National Party was returned to power and will form the next Government with two (very) minor parties in coalition for the next three years.

I was going to write about the upcoming election last week but decided it was too dull and boring (one thing about living in a highly stable democracy is that politics here really will put you to sleep most of the time) but an article that appeared in the New Zealand Herald this morning has made me think.

The article suggested that significant numbers of new immigrants do not register or vote in elections.

Given the fact that many of our migrants come from countries that do not have true democratic elections or come from (effective) one party states like South Africa I would have thought that most would jump at the chance to be involved in this process.

On Saturday only around 65% of all eligible voters (not just migrants) turned out for this year’s election which is the lowest in percentage terms for 120 years.

I don’t know if migrants vote or don’t vote (feedback please!!) but in terms of those who have been here a few years or were born here I rather suspect the main reason for this is that the two major parties that slug it out to be the biggest political party in Government were polling so differently that many people probably thought it just wasn’t worth turning out to vote.

The National Party were so far ahead in the polls that I am sure some of their own supporters probably thought there was no point in turning up. Arguably the major  opposition Labour Party supporters perhaps thought the same – their ticket was polling so poorly that they were going to lose heavily and thought that their vote would make no difference.

Which I find really odd.

I wouldn’t miss voting for the world.

When I have been overseas during elections I have always cast a special vote.

My eldest son turned 18 in September and I felt it was extremely important that he register to vote and to then accept the responsibility that comes with living in a democracy and have his say in this his first election.

It is so easy here – you can register online to vote and it takes all of five minutes. Within a few days you will receive a pack where you have to decide which of the Electoral Rolls you wish to be on – the General or the Maori (those who identify as being of Maori descent have a small amount of seats available to them out of the 120 seat Parliament – that is another story for another day).

Even if you can’t get to a polling booth on the day the Electoral Commission will arrange for someone to either come and pick you up (seriously) or if you are disabled or sick they come and help you to cast a special vote. My colleague Chris flew out to Malaysia late last week and there was even a polling booth in the Qantas Lounge at Auckland airport! How cool (and organised) is that?

Back to my son, I even took photos of him with his first ever ‘quick vote’ card outside the polling booth. He of course thought I was “being a dick as usual” but having taken both my sons down to the local polling booth every year since they were very young to share in this three yearly rite I was so keen to join him as he cast his first ballot. More excited than he apparently was to have me with him…

In fact it has to be said that I was extra excited this year given we had another contributing member of our great little democracy off to do his bit.

When I enter the local polling station to cast my ballots I am always struck by how serious and solemn I feel about it – as if my vote really will make a difference to the country in which I live.

Which when you think about it is kind of silly but I guess democracy is based on the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.  I always feel as though my votes are the most important ones made on the day. Really, I do.

We get two votes under this system – one for the local electorate candidate and one for a political party. It is a system called Mixed Member Proportional representation or MMP for short. It means that parties end up with the number of seats in Parliament that reflects the percentage of their national vote (more or less). Similar to Germany it generally leads to coalitions with one dominant party supported by one or two smaller ones.

The system is effectively designed to prevent any one party having an outright majority of seats in Parliament and exercising unbridled power. I for one am a bit of a fan of this system although critics will tell you that it means too much horse trading. Some might just call it compromise. Tails don’t wag dogs in our Parliament however and by and large it seems to work.

This year we also got to vote in a referendum on whether we wished to retain the current Mixed Member Proportional voting system or change it. As a result we had two ballot papers – one for the referendum and one to vote for Parliament.

Having entered the hall, handed over my ‘Quick Vote’ card and being ‘ticked off’ the electoral roll (all in the space of about two minutes) I was handed my two voting papers – one orange and one purple. 

I solemnly reminded my son how the system worked and how he goes about selecting his Party and candidate and in grateful reply received a “Yeah dad you’ve like, only explained it, like, a thousand times already” so I left him to it, scuttled off into a ‘booth’ and made my sacred marks on the coloured ballot papers.

Having done so I then went to the very helpfully marked orange and purple boxes and proceeded to put the purple referendum voting paper in the orange box and the orange election voting paper  in the purple box!

I couldn’t believe it. I broke into a cold sweat. I laughed nervously when I told my wife what had happened. Would my votes be disallowed? Not counted? Would ‘my’ party not get elected? What if my local candidate lost by one vote? I couldn’t bear the thought of it. You may well laugh dear reader but in the Christchurch Central electorate there was a dead heat on Saturday with two candidates getting something like 10,349 votes each so it does happen!! 

We’ve all heard of the butterfly effect – had I just changed the course of New Zealand history owing to my idiocy? 

I felt like a complete imbecile of course and had to ask one of the ‘officials’ if they would recognise my precious votes when it came to counting time. They actually didn’t say yes but I think they indicated they would. I was so gutted that I may have  blown it that I wasn’t really listening.

My son just laughed. You have to love teenagers. He ticked his boxes, made his  ‘political statement’, placed his votes in the correctly coloured boxes and went to the sausage sizzle being run by the local Russian Orthodox church members (in whose hall the voting was being done) and snacked merrily on a snag in bread dripping in tomato sauce. No doubt secure in the knowledge he really is the son of a ‘dick’.

So it is over for another three years.

And just for the record my party ‘won’ and the local candidate I voted for was also elected to Parliament.

For those of you recently arrived or not yet here a few ‘need to knows’ on voting:

1. It is mandatory as a citizen or permanent resident when you turn 18 to enrol to vote and to get registered on the Electoral Roll.

2. Voting however is not compulsory.

3. You get two votes – one for the party you wish to see in Parliament and a second electorate vote where you vote for the person in your local electorate you want to send off to Parliament.

All rather simple really.

A little bit of housekeeping to finish up.

We are closing for our Christmas break (I’m counting the days) on Thursday 22 December at mid day and we re-open on 9 January 2012. If you have any visa applications you need filed please ensure they get here no later than Friday 17 December. The Immigration Department will close on 23 December and likely reopen on Wednesday 4 January so nothing will happen over that time with applications even if filed. 

Over the Christmas break we will not be clearing phone messages. Emails may be answered from time to time but I will leave this up to each consultant. Any mail that arrives will be held at the Post Office/Courier depots etc. awaiting our re-opening on 9 January. 

Those of you in Singapore – Chris Noakes is heading your way to present his final seminar for 2011 this Saturday. You can register here.

Waiheke Island

Waiheke Island is often referred as the “jewel” of the Hauraki Gulf.

Lying 45 minutes ferry ride to the east of downtown Auckland it is an island of incredible contrasts and beauty.

I had the opportunity of spending the day exploring the island with my wife, cruising in her VW Beetle with the soft top down this past Sunday.  The reason for being there is that a very good friend of mine is the Chairman of a Trust which he set up to honour the brief life of his 13 year old daughter who died suddenly a number of years ago of meningococcal disease.  The Trust raises money to support the locals with medical, travel and accommodation expenses given if they have anything serious they often need to come to the mainland for treatment.

The Trust that he established 11 years ago organizes an annual “garden safari” and he musters the support of 80 volunteers to make it happen.  People like me were afforded the privilege of buying a ticket, putting the car on the ferry, heading down the harbour and enjoying a wonderful day in the sun touring some of the most magnificent properties I have ever seen.

Waiheke is a very interesting place.  Until about 25 years ago it was very much viewed as a hippie hangout where dropouts and dope smokers used to go to escape Auckland’s rat race and ‘do’ pottery.  It has an almost Mediterranean climate which sees 25% less rainfall than downtown Auckland, with around 750mm, even though it is literally only 20 kilometres down the harbour. 

The soil is poor and predominantly clay and in summer baked to the hardness of concrete.  After European settlement this island which is 20 kilometres long was largely cleared of its native forest and turned into farmland.  Around 20 years ago, however, Aucklanders with money along with migrants or foreign investors realized what a treasure this island was with its pristine beaches with golden sand, clear waters and many safe anchorages and harbours which was perfect for building holiday homes, permanent residences and parking the super yacht.

Vineyards and olive groves were planted and are now common.  Some of New Zealand’s best world class wines are produced on Waiheke; there are now many cafés and restaurants and it has become a bit of a Mecca for day trippers and boaties of Auckland who will often head down there for a night or two.

One thing which really struck me about Waiheke is that it is something of a microcosm of New Zealand but without much in the way of middle classes. In some ways it represents what New Zealand used to be i.e. a population overwhelmingly of European ethnicity unlike Auckland which is these days so multi ethnic and diverse with 40% of its residents not having been born in New Zealand. 

Equally and of some surprise if not shock is the amount of wealth that is now down on that island.

Nestled (or standing out like the proverbial dogs bollocks) among magnificent rolling gardens attended by full-time garden staff are stunning architecturally designed houses with helipads alongside and some even have landings to tie up the super yacht or very large pleasure craft.

That these people have opened up their properties to the Trust is quite wonderful and allowed a few nosey Aucklanders to get a glimpse of some of the sculpture and other artworks these people possess.  I can tell you it is jaw dropping.

Sometimes clients who come to New Zealand question how much wealth is here but I can tell you after an afternoon on Waiheke it becomes quite obvious – there is far, far more than what first appearances might suggest.  I only visited five properties and at least two of them had sculptures in their garden which cost tens of thousands of dollars each.

A close family member of mine who met us out there also told me of a friend of his who recently spent NZ$500,000 on a sculpture for her property.  I understand she has several.  She is, with due respect, a ‘no name” in New Zealand as in if I mentioned her name to any of my friends no-one would ever have heard of her, yet she is clearly utterly loaded.  Out on Waiheke she is one of many.

At the other end of the spectrum I believe a few of the hippies or their offspring are still there.  With their unkempt hair and sandals many are driving around in cars that wouldn’t fetch much more than $200.  Their houses are modest.

I suspect that there are many people out on that island who are reliant on Social Welfare to a greater or lesser extent and it makes for interesting public meetings from all accounts.  For example, one of the wealthy owners wants to put in a marina for the boaties who use the island or who live on it.  Of course those of more “green” persuasion are fervently opposed and I understand that it can take an eternity to find compromise and decide on whether projects should go ahead.

For all that it is an utterly wonderful environment and it must be great to raise kids out there.  We sat in one garden, perched on a sandstone promontory of land watching a flock of Gannets diving into a bay 150 metres below us and coming up with their mouths full of fish.  Other friends of ours were out on Waiheke enjoying the same garden safari and they were lucky to sit in one of the local cafés and watch three Orca (killer whales) cruise through the bay below them.

As Waiheke has grappled with population growth and sub-division it is, to my way of thinking, another great example of how coastal development and compromise can, in fact, enhance the natural environment.  Waiheke has incredibly strict environmental controls designed to protect the intrinsic beauty of the place, yet it does not stifle development.  It seems to me most people who live out there are also incredibly generous and some of the extremely wealthy people have covenanted large areas of their land and are allowing it to return to its natural state.  Native bird life abounds. The fishing is sublime. The sea is clear and warm.

There were twelve gardens on display and we only got to see five.  Or should I say my wife got to see five, when I got to the fifth it was such a warm sunny day I couldn’t get out of her VW Beetle Cabriolet but reclined the seat, tipped my Panama hat over my face and proceeded to doze for an hour.  Sublime. Paradise...

If you live in Auckland or have recently moved here, spend a day or two out at Waiheke – take your car on the ferry, it is not too expensive and enjoy the beaches, the secluded and private bays, the vineyards, the olive plantations, the cafés and restaurants, the fresh air and the beautiful scenery.

Seminars – Malaysia & Singapore

Don’t forget our final seminars of the year will take place in Kuala Lumpur on 26 November 11.00 a.m. and Singapore a week later on 3 December at 11.00 a.m.

We are not going to be back in that neck of the woods until March next year so if you wish to attend or have friends or family considering a move to New Zealand I woudl urge them to attend.

Until next week...

 

 

Iain MacLeod - Southern Man

Life in the (big) City

I was a little reluctant to go live with this piece and few have created in me more angst. I’m either going to sound like an Environmental Crusader or a middle aged control freak busy body!

But this blog is about my take on this part of the world so here goes. You all get the chance to post your comments and your feedback would be gratefully received. 

I have often written about how my city is changing.

Sometimes the changes are subtle and sometimes they are not.

So much of the change is positive and for the better but at other times I feel some of the city’s inhabitants might just be in danger of losing their humanity a little. Becoming a little more selfish. Speaking as an Aucklander (in the sense that to be an Aucklander is not necessarily the same as to be a New Zealander and our values might increasingly differ from the other inhabitants of this fair land) our sense of community and awareness of one another is arguably diminishing which is at odds with the way we have historically perceived ourselves - open, friendly, egalitarian, sensitive to others and tolerant. Or, and this is meant as a blunt warning (good advice?) to my own client base, perhaps it’s not the locals who are changing but migrants who are arriving and bringing with them attitudes and behaviours that can at times be viewed as, well, foreign.

So in the interests of helping migrants settle here allow me a wee rant – call it Cultural Assimilation 101.

Auckland is home to 1.4 million people and covers a huge area making it the 5th biggest city in area in the world (bet you didn’t know that). Auckland now has a population density greater than a city like Melbourne.

As a consequence and especially in downtown Auckland where I work we are having to physically interact more and more with other people – or ignore them. 

I like walking down my suburban street, smiling and offering a ‘Good Morning’, ‘Hi’ or similar greeting to those who I pass. I am not looking to stop and chat but a simple acknowledgement of your fellow man can go a long way. It’s just what we do here…..

I appreciate in downtown Auckland it is not possible to greet everyone – for starters people will think you are loony (and in my case I concede they might be right) or in terms of simple expediency you’d never get to where you are going given there are so many people.

However, there are plenty of examples of how new arrivals understandably bring with them behaviours that are quite ‘normal’ in their country of origin but interpreted quite differently by locals. 

It appears, for example, to be absolutely acceptable to gather in a small group of three or four people on the footpath outside my office and force every other pedestrian to walk around you – even if this means stepping in the gutter to do so.

Or the drivers that don’t let other cars merge into their lane. Aucklanders, to be fair are not as bad as drivers in many other countries and thank goodness there are still plenty of drivers who will let you in. This I should also add is not a behaviour migrants have a monopoly on but it is true to say that certain immigrant groups do at best appear oblivious to other road users and be over represented in the ‘I’m the only person I’m aware of on the road’ group.

Or my local dairy (convenience store) owner here in our own historic and beautiful High Street who every morning enjoys a couple of cancer sticks and when he has finished chucks them in the gutter. I bite my tongue every time I walk past his store as he is either standing there poised to flick a butt into the street or there is a small pile of two already lying at my feet. Maybe I should just man up and explain to him that as a new New Zealander I want to know if he ever gives any thought as to where his cigarette butts go once they have been washed into the city’s storm water system.

I know the answer – into my harbour where I like to fish and my children swim – but he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.

I have never said anything – I don’t want to be accused of being racist, or insensitive or rude to a migrant but it is clear that where he comes from the road is a rubbish bin and once out of sight his personal rubbish is out of mind.

Should, dear reader, I be saying something?

Well I now do. I am tired of it (but equally am a little concerned that having written this I am starting to sound ever so slightly like the Gestapo….).

A few weeks ago I was walking downtown to a favourite Dim Sum restaurant to have lunch with a good mate of mine and this fellow walker was about a meter away from a rubbish bin when he dropped his cigarette butt and extinguished  it with his boot. I couldn’t help myself – I asked him why he would do that when 3 feet in front of him was a metal rubbish bin designed for such things?

My friend put his hands over his face and kept walking. But I thought “Bugger it, this is my city as well – this guy is just lazy. If it was a KFC packet he wouldn’t do it so why do smokers think our footpaths are their personal ashtrays?”

The old fella simply stared at me. He wasn’t angry – I think he was a bit surprised that someone had pulled him up on this. 

I did notice that he did not pick up the cigarette butt. And being the consummate Diplomat I am, I didn’t push it.

My only hope is when he sucked his next one to death he might dispose of the butt in an appropriate receptacle.

A few years ago the then Mayor of Auckland absurdly copped it as being a racist for stopping a young man in the street, who happened to be of Asian ethnicity and telling him that while spitting in the street where he comes from might be acceptable he would prefer it if he kept his gobs to himself rather than shared them with the good folk of Auckland’s premier shopping and business district.

I couldn’t believe it!

Some of you might wonder if the Southern Man hasn’t turned into a middle aged grump but really am I wrong to point this out and be frustrated by it? 

You want to smoke, then smoke. All I ask is that as a fellow Aucklander you use rubbish bins.

If you want to congregate in small groups, wonderful, just pull over to the left and get out of the flow of pedestrians.

If you are driving – remember you aren’t the only car on the road and being aware of those around you is not a bad thing. And learning the local road rules isn’t always the worst idea.

We are all products of our environment – of that I am sure.

I am not cross about these things, there is no anger and I don’t believe I need counselling – I just observe things. And some of the things I observe I wouldn’t have 20 years ago.

My city is changing and those that are new to it need to adapt to us and we to them. 

That’s what migration is all about.

Seminars – don’t forget the last round for this year is currently underway in South Africa (Johannesburg is done, Durban and Cape Town next week) followed by Singapore and Malaysia at month’s end. If you are interested in attending or you know anyone who might like to – they can register here.

Until next week...

It's a Wrap...

It’s over. It’s finally over.

The ghosts of 1991 to 2007 have finally been laid to rest. The mighty All Blacks who so dominate world rugby year in and year out have finally secured their second Rugby World Cup. The RWC monkey (gorilla?) is now firmly off their backs.

Deserved winners they were if I may say so myself. Being the objective observer I am of course.

What a struggle it has been. Late nights, excessive drinking, lots of partying, endless fun, frayed nerves, tension, loss of sleep – and that’s just the players. What about us poor suckers who had to live it with them?

Late nights, excessive drinking, partying, sleep loss, tension, chewed fingernails, teasing friends around the world (mainly South Africa for obvious reasons….) – we may as well have played the games. It has been really, really tough.

I couldn’t have gone another week. If this tournament had been eight weeks long rather than six I’d be booking a consultation with a transplant specialist about now – my liver is shot and it just couldn’t take any more.

What a great ride it has been.

Watching the final from the new stand at Eden Park on Sunday was truly special. It was not the game so many people had been expecting and having written off the French in the week leading up to the final as being unworthy a great many of us had to swallow (actually choke might have been the word of the day) humble pie as they not only proved worthy finalists they could, with an extra Powerade or two, possibly even have won.

Last week I was offered three tickets and turned them down – my ‘final’ had been the All Blacks versus the Wallabies and taking my family to what was a truly great game. Now there was an All Black team at their dominant best – they’d have crushed anyone that night.

Later in the week I was again offered a ticket and this time I thought I just had to be there. How could I not go to a World Cup final that was being played just a ten minute walk from my home? In my city and in my country? Was I crazy? Perhaps just hung over...

I totalled up what I had spent on tickets to three pool games and a semi and thought – I’ve spent enough. I could buy a car with what I have paid to watch the Samoans, Fijians, English, Scots, Wallabies, French and All Blacks! And I had been to the pool match where the ABs despatched the French with consummate ease. Why waste more money?

Simply, and after another 23 seconds consideration, I said to myself I just had to be there – even if it was going to be a one sided affair. I was being called. The atmosphere at Eden Park had been tremendous all tournament. Games watched in high spirits – colourful fans, great organisation, a world class stadium organised to run like a Swiss watch.

I was right on all fronts bar one.

I should have known that a final is different. Players grow another leg. The French grew several and what had been billed as a bit of an anti-climax turned out to be a gripping final. Some have said it wasn’t pretty – well to me it was. A true test match. Beautiful from kick off to the 80th minute. Pitting two teams of ‘die for the cause’ players against one another at one of the great rugby grounds in the world cheered on by 61,000 fans at the park, another 4 million at home and many millions more around the world was something I will never forget.

From the time the French players formed their ‘V’ for victory sign when confronted with the haka we all knew we were in for something special. And of course the French have long been the All Blacks bogey team.

Eighty minutes of grinding rugby later the stadium erupted in delight (or possibly blessed disbelief). Personally my joy lasted about two minutes – then I started to simply feel relief. Relief that the team and the country had pulled off something pretty remarkable.

The IRB had said that giving the Cup to NZ was a bit of a risk. We are too small, not enough people, stadia too small, TV time zone issues and all that but they were the first to state on Sunday evening that it was probably the best World Cup in the 24 year history of the event.

So much was done so well by so many so unobtrusively.

When international media and team management wanted things done – in tournaments past they had been told no, not possible. Here it was – hang on a minute, give me a bit of time and I will see what I can do. And do we did. With beaming smiles.

I note even our Australian cousins at the Sydney Morning Herald gave New Zealand ‘11 out of 10’ for the way the event was pulled together and run.

Clearly the reason for its success was New Zealanders embraced this tournament like none before have done.

The concept of the stadium of 4 million was deemed a bit cheesy but it was well on the mark (not sure what the other 416,000 New Zealanders were doing for six weeks).

Whole cities, towns and schools adopted different countries. Teams were based in many regions around the country and made to feel more welcome than they had expected and ended up enjoying so much more than simply the rugby. When the Georgians played the Romanians in Rotorua for example half the crowd turned up wearing yellow and half red.

When the Irish team played in Dunedin they seriously thought that 20,000 Irish supporters had flown into the country. The truth was there were only 3000 of them! The rest were locals. The same at Eden Park for their pool match against the Aussies where out of a crowd of 60,000 I would suggest 55,000 were supporting Ireland (arguably not just reflecting the fact many of us have Irish ancestry but more the friendly rivalry that exists between NZ and our neighbours across the Tasman). The rest were New Zealanders dressed in green. Every team was made to feel like they were playing at home. It was something the organisers wanted and New Zealanders, being the friendly welcoming, sport crazy nuts we are, took them all into our hearts and homes.

By all accounts the players had a great time.

As did the 100,000 or so tourists that have jumped out of planes, bungeed off bridges, visited Milford Sound, enjoyed our beautiful countryside, swum with dolphins, been fishing, enjoyed great coffee in little cafes in picturesque small towns, ate at some of the best restaurants in the world, skydived, drunk some great wines at some of the world’s best wineries, experienced street theatre, local beer and local pubs, played golf on world class golf courses and generally had the time of their lives.

So many said that they had been on many holidays before and had high expectations that were not met – this time they had equally high expectations and they were exceeded. Indeed according to many, smashed.

Little things like New Zealanders taking perfect strangers into their homes for four week so they got a real NZ experience during the World Cup and being loaned motorcars, binoculars, cameras and all sorts of things to people who were basically total strangers.

But such is the way of the people of this country. It is what makes it special.

The country used the opportunity to showcase fashion (probably a bigger exporter than you might imagine), high end manufacturing, food and our IT industries as well as our more traditional primary industries such as farming, fishing and horticulture.

Contacts were made, relationships forged, dollars flowed.

Having enjoyed this opportunity to showcase our country to the world, I think we are all now somewhat exhausted. It’s been really hard work having this much fun.

Having thought that this might be the last time that we would get to host the event the fact we pulled it off so well has already lead to talk that the tournament will return.

Roll on 2030 – I hope by then my liver has recovered.

Until next week,

Seminars – Our final round for the year are coming up in South Africa, Malaysia and Singapore. Tell your friends about 'the little country that could' and come and hear what we have to share with you about it and the new lives that await migrants to this wonderful country.

Veni, Vidi, Vici...

Sport is a funny thing, it can bring out the best and worst in us. It can be a force for good and it can also be used for negativity and destruction. So too migration.

I can see with the All Blacks now poised to take the World Cup for the first time in 24 years how dedication to a single goal; a goal that is researched, visualised, planned and then executed can be such a force for good, not only for those involved but for those around who get to bask in the reflected glory.

If you win you can look back and pin point the pivotal moments where the decisions that made the difference were locked in.

If you lose you can look around and find blame with everyone and everything else except yourself and your plan. Blame those around you because in the end you were just not up to the challenge.

I am still ashamed of the vilification of referee Wayne Barnes in this country and the way New Zealanders blamed that referee for their departure from the 2007 quarter final in Cardiff. No referee ever cost a rugby side a game in the World Cup. Not the ref in the game between Samoa and South Africa three weeks ago, not South Africa when they played Australia in the quarter final and lost and not Wales when they lost to France in the semi.

Scapegoats are for those that seek factors other than themselves. It might be natural to lash out when you fail to reach the summit of your own Everest but, not only is it unseemly, the reasons given are often so wide of the mark.

I was thinking this past week about some of the toys being thrown from cots in certain parts of the rugby world when I got to reflecting over a client of ours from South Africa who has just found himself an offer of skilled employment here that will secure his and his family’s future. As a senior Police Officer in South Africa he has seen all pathways to promotion blocked owing to that country’s employment policies which nowadays specifically excludes most ‘whites’ from advancement.

His salary is pitiful given he puts his life on the line every day he gets dressed in that uniform and his savings as a consequence not high. In fact so bad is the salary of a Police Captain, shot twice in the line of duty that he has had to set up and run his own small business on the side to supplement his income. Pest control (the irony is wonderful) has kept himself and his family from the gutter.

When I met with this potential client back in July in South Africa, I outlined a strategy to achieve Residence for his family in New Zealand. I counselled him that it would not be easy but was doable. I told him he would be tested like he has never been tested before.

He needed a job offer to make it happen. Skilled and relevant employment and it would not be an easy nut to crack.

I explained that the two weeks he had planned to set aside to come to NZ and try to secure the job was simply unrealistic, greater investment in both time and money would be needed. Two things he was very short on.

We discussed the obvious employer – New Zealand Police. New Zealand is recruiting more front line police but unfortunately I told him that he would not be able to apply to join them as they have a policy of only employing New Zealand citizens or permanent residents, but that there were other sectors which would and had recruited former policemen we had helped to get Residence Visas of New Zealand.

He was understandably very nervous about it all. I might even suggest he was petrified. He was one of the few clients that just before he flew out here I emailed and asked ‘Are you really sure you want to do this? Are you really sure you are up to it?”

He was quite determined and was willing to follow our advice and the plan we laid out for him.

He has now been in New Zealand for about ten weeks, having left his wife and daughters behind and has been busy applying for various management level positions in retail, security and other sectors.

He has applied for jobs up and down the length of this country, travelled thousands of kilometres for interviews, been rejected by almost all but stayed stoic and focussed when he did not get them.

Then it happened. Last week he secured the position he needed for us to unlock Residence Visas of New Zealand for him and his family and we have just filed his Work Visa application (from within NZ) which will enable him to start his new job in a couple of weeks.

This job will also now enable him to proceed with confidence on our plan to secure his family Residence Visas of New Zealand.

The word “hero” is to my mind over used. It is very easy to suggest everyone is a winner and there can be no losers but life isn’t like that, we all know it. There are winners and there are losers.

Lady Luck plays a bit part at times but overwhelmingly we make our own luck.

The All Blacks aren’t about to play the greatest game of their lives owing to any luck or fortune. They had to beat some very good teams to make this final. They planned for it. They trained for it. They spent four years on it. And I have no doubt they will achieve it. They have been the best team at this tournament and I am truly honoured to have sat in the stands at Eden Park last Sunday and watched them beat the Australians, clearly the second best side at this Rugby World Cup.

All migrants that take the risks involved in scaling the mountain that is migration are to my mind heroes. All are taking risks that have real and meaningful consequences on a financial, emotional and logistical level if they fail. And make no mistake - all can fail and many do. There is something Darwinian about this process – New Zealand gets highly focussed and driven people who have been prepared to sacrifice and fight for the chance to live here.

There are many for whom the climb is too steep, the battle too hard, the rejections too frequent and who when faced with the adversity, the cost, the emotional investment, the time, the rejection and the fear find they just cannot scale the heights required to secure that key to a new life for them and their family.

And to this client, this dedicated, single bloody minded client, who has been tested in this process and his life like few others and who can add a few more scars to the bullet exit wounds on his body, I salute you. You are a real hero – you had a plan, you had a vision of where you needed to go and how to get there and you did it. Your children will one day, I hope, thank you for what you have risked and what you are about to give them.

I am genuinely proud, as a coach is of his rugby team, that although we have a long way to go to finish the residence process, the single greatest impediment to securing that residence is a barrier smashed and he will make it.

To all those who seek residence for themselves and their families who want to do this on the cheap, by cutting corners, by thinking it can all be achieved without real struggle – stay where you are – you will likely fail.

To those who are willing to get good advice, and yes pay for it (for these things are not mutually exclusive), this mountain is able to be conquered.

And to our beloved mighty All Blacks who stand for all that is great and good about this little country that could – who have put their bodies on the line in the quest for greatness and glory, a noble goal will be realised on Sunday. Not through cutting corners, not through trying to win this World Cup with anything other than a good plan, sweat and tears but through a vision held steadfastly to, a plan and single minded execution, taking the knocks and setbacks and conquering all those that stood before them.

To the All Blacks - you are all real heroes.

As is every one of our clients, including our Police Captain from South Africa who take all that the Immigration Department, New Zealand employers and the visa process can find to hurl at them and who win – whose ‘World Cup’ is a somewhat innocuous looking label in a well worn passport but which ultimately says it all - I came, I saw and I conquered.

Until next week...