Month: May 2023

          

            They made it.  Both a little freaked out and sick with colds from being in the same place as a lot of other animals, but they made it.  

            The house we are staying in has huge patio doors and we thought this would be great for the cats—they could watch nature in 3D.  Alas, there is nothing to watch.  We went from herds of squirrels and birds, birds, birds, to nothing. There is nothing outside of any interest to the cats.  There are a few birds, usually the tui, but there are no squirrels in New Zealand.  In fact, there are no native mammals of any kind.  A few neighborhood cats come by, but just passing and not long enough to get our cats’ attention.  It really is odd not seeing squirrels.  You forget how used you can get to having a yard full of wildlife.  Here are the facts about native animals and plants:

• Apart from two bat species, there are no native land mammals.
• There are no snakes.
• Many species are long-lived: kiwi can live for 30 years, and kauri trees for 1,700.
• Many birds and insects are flightless – they did not need to fly as there were few predators.
• Some species are giants, including kākāpō (the world’s biggest parrot), snails, buttercups and daisies.
• Several trees when young have small, narrow leaves. These only become large when the tree reaches over 2–3 metres. This pattern may have evolved to prevent the giant moa (a bird, now extinct) from eating young plants.

  Excerpted from https://teara.govt.nz/en/native-plants-and-animals-overview

            Given the lack of back yard wildlife, I am not sure how the cats will amuse themselves.  Most New Zealanders who own cats let them roam free.  We have not yet decided if we want JoJo out and about.  One thing I do not want is a cat with fleas. Nor do I want to wonder if JoJo is okay. He was feral and I worry that he will go on walk about and stay out for days. He is also prone to saying hi to strangers and he would be very willing to be friends with anyone who gives him food. We will see.

Off to Houston we flew to get to our connecting Air New Zealand flight   The Houston Airport is huge and crowded.  A disability assistant pushed Matt to the gate while I dealt with the carry-ons.  We had a lot of time to kill so we decided to try for entry into an Airline Club.  I could not find it and I stopped an airport worker to ask if she knew where the club was located.  When she saw I had Matt and the carry-ons, she offered to help us.  She would handle my luggage while I pushed Matt.  I insisted that we did not need help, but she was determined.  She walked us to the Club and then said goodbye.  

People ask us all the time whether it is hard to fly to New Zealand.  The flight is 14 hours and you think, that is just too much.  But honestly, it is a really good amount of time.  You watch a movie, have dinner and then pop some sleeping aid of your choice and go to sleep.  Unlike flights to Europe, you actually have time to sleep.  You can get in a good seven hours if you try.  You wake up feeling refreshed and you arrive in New Zealand in their morning.  So it all works out.  

What did not work out was the next part of the trip—our luggage in Aukland, where we had to go through New Zealand customs.  When you are moving to a country for a few years, you kind of overpack.  As I said, we had six very large and very, very heavy pieces of luggage in addition to our two carry-ons and two backpacks.  When we arrived at the baggage check we had expected to find a porter to help us.  There were none.  There were only luggage carts that might hold three pieces of luggage.  That meant I would have two carts plus Matt in a wheelchair.  I am good, but not that good.  

I went to find help.  What I got from the guys at the baggage carousel was an excuse.  While they could load the cart for me, helping us push carts through customs was not in their job description.  I then tried to get help from the baggage services desk, being manned by two women.  One woman seemed pretty cranky and mad that the person pushing Matt’s wheelchair had bailed out and left me there to handle the task.  She felt they should be helping us.

The other women listened to me explain the situation and she said there are no porters at the airport.  You have to book ahead with third party services.  I did not know that of course since in America, we do things a little differently.  They asked why the guys at the baggage carousel did not help.  I told her their response was they could not do it.  

This woman, who was about my age and whose name I never did get, put on her orange neon vest and said she would help me even though it was not in her job description.  At this moment, the can-do spirit of New Zealand women came to our rescue.  She marched over to the luggage carts and started to push one toward the customs door.  I pushed Matt.  Then she went back and got the other cart and pushed it.  She decided she could handle both carts, pushing one and pulling the other.  I was protesting that she should not be handling so much luggage, but she shushed me and said luggage was what she dealt with.  She kept on going.  We got to customs and we found—ready?  X-ray machines.  You want us to put six 70 pound bags through an x-ray machine?  There was no sympathy there.  The Good Samaritan and I hefted the bags onto the luggage belt and then hefted them back onto the carts.  More pushing and going back and pushing another in a relay.  A young girl came up and said she had been watching us and figured she could help.  She took over pushing Matt while I pushed one of the carts.  

We made it out of customs but now we had to transfer to a domestic flight to Wellington.  The domestic flights are in an entirely different building, that can only be reached by a bus.  We and our luggage needed to be transferred to the domestic flight.  At this point, we were so late, we were surely going to miss our flight, so we needed to be rebooked. 

Another Air New Zealand employee, a woman of course, asked if we needed help.  I explained the situation.  We were joined by the Good Samaritan and both of them went off determined to get us to Wellington with all of our luggage.  This would require rebooking our flight and getting our luggage checked in the international terminal, a real no-no.  We waited.  About fifteen minutes later they came with tickets and bag tags.  

As we were checking the bags, I handed the Good Samaritan a wad of American money.  I told her to take it and buy herself a nice dinner.  She protested but I insisted.  Then I did the American thing and gave her a hug.  Twice.  They escorted us to the bus to transfer to the domestic terminal and we bid them both farewell.  

At the domestic terminal more fussing started over our carry-ons.  Strict weight limits of 15 pounds for everything you are taking on board.  My purse is that heavy, let alone a backpack and carry-on.  At this point we had no choice.  We checked unlocked bags loaded with cameras and ipads.  It made me sick to do but the airline rep was not letting us go to the gate with the carry-ons.  

The flight was uneventful.  But now we had to face the body bag luggage once again in Wellington.  There are no taxi vans and we were never getting all that luggage in a car trunk.  In anticipation, we rented an SUV to drive all of it to the house.  All we had to do was get the luggage to the car.  Once again, a Good Samaritan from baggage services came to our rescue.  She was not even slightly impressed with our bags.  People move to New Zealand and they bring luggage.  So she had seen this before.  In fact, without prompting, she asked me where we were moving.  She hefted those bags, insisting that I not help and pushed both carts together to the rental counter while I pushed Matt.  I told her not to strain herself and she said, I’ve handled luggage for years.  This is what I do.  Mind you, she was close to my age and wearing a dress and heels.  When I said I had my doubts about getting help from the rental agent, she admonished me.  “You are doing this all wrong.  You need to make them help you.  Don’t lift anything.  Make people do their job.”  That seemed extreme but I got her point.  I was trying to do most of the work and she wanted me to rely on the people there.  

Luckily, the final Good Samaritan we encountered was at the rental counter.  A young woman, she ran to get the car and then helped us load it.  

In all of this I can say that everyone we encountered along the way was as helpful as they could be.  But I was even more impressed with the attitude.  There was no, sorry but we can’t help you.  I’ll take the next in line.  The attitude was a very matter-of-fact “we can get this done if we put our minds to it.  Let’s just give it a go.”  

I am profusely grateful to all of those women.  It might have been all in a day’s work for them, but you won’t always find people who will go above and beyond for a stranger.  We met five women who did.  

  The next morning, the plan was to get breakfast and leave for the airport no later than 12:30.  We had six body bag size suitcases to check.  We needed all of this luggage because our stuff was now in crates to be put on a ship.  We would not see it for months.  We packed as much as we could had to take on the plane.  We also needed to get wheel chair assistance for Matt.

Our flight was scheduled to leave at 2:45 p.m.  I checked my email as part of my morning routine.  I found a Daily Notice from the Post Office alerting me that mail would be delivered that day.  This was odd.  Matt had done a change of address for me.  I shouldn’t be getting mail.  We tried to figure out what went wrong.  We called the local Post Office and they had no record of the change of address request.  I called the national customer service number and all they wanted was a change of address confirmation number, which I did not have.  They could not determine if I had changed my address without that number.  I asked if I could just take care of it over the phone and the answer was a firm “no.”  Their policy is that a change of address has to be done by application in person or by mail. 

Matt and I went through our emails again and there it was.  In my overwhelmed state, I had missed and email from USPS.  They were holding my change of address request until I went to a Post Office and personally verified it.  I have no idea why but we suspect that since Matt took care of it and paid for it, an alarm of some sort was triggered.  

It was 11 a.m.  Our flight was leaving at 2:45.  How could I get to a Post Office?  I called USPS and begged to get it done over the phone.  They insisted that the only way I could change my address was to show up in person at a Post Office to confirm the change.  Customer service said that any Post Office would do.  

We looked on-line and found a Post Office that was a ten-minute walk from the hotel.  I put on my shoes and headed out.  I race walked down the street willing myself to go as fast as I could.  But I could not find this Post Office. The address made no sense.  I turned to Google maps and discovered the office was inside of an old shopping mall.  I finally found it only to be greeted by the 2022 winner of the craziest Post Office employee in the U.S.  She was alone behind a counter that she had rigged up with cardboard in a way that seemed to be intended to serve as protection from the COVID masses.  

When I told her I was there to verify my change of address, she insisted she had never had of such a request and that she did not know what I was talking about.  I asked her to read the email from USPS, but she refused.  I was pissed so I started reading it to her aloud.  She practically stuck her fingers in her ears.  She instructed me to call her supervisor.  I refused. I pleaded.  “I have to catch a plane.  You understand that, don’t you?”  Her response, “So.” I tried every way I could to get her to help me. Finally, I said, “Give me the fucking number.”  At that, she ran away, through an “Authorized Personnel Only” door and locked it.  

I cussed all the way back to the hotel.  By this time, I had had no breakfast and no caffeine.  It was getting on to noon.  We needed to be at the airport at 12:45 p.m.  I had to get to a Post Office that was staffed by a sane person. 

We checked out and headed for the next closest Post Office.  At that stop, the clerk gave me the address of the “main” Post Office, the only place that could deal with a change of address verification.  So much for “any post office can take care of it.”  Why is customer service so bad?  We drove further away from the airport.  At this point it was 12:45. I walked to the window and told the clerk I was going to miss my flight if she could not help me.  She knew what do and took care of it in one minute.  But it was still another ten minutes gone.  

When I got into the car, I burst into tears.  The pressure was just too much.  I was bawling.  Hysterical or not, we had to get to the airport.  I drove and blew my nose at the same time.  

The next problem was our rental car.  It needed to be returned to an off-site location.  We had planned for me to drop Matt off with the bags, I would return the car and take the shuttle back.  There was absolutely no time for any of that. Matt called Avis and explained that we were running so late, we did not have time to take the car anywhere other than the airport.  We had to off load the luggage and check-in.  We only had an hour.  Avis agreed we could leave the car in a parking garage.  

I pulled up to the departure area and tracked down a porter.  He agreed to help Matt with the six body bags while I went off to park the car.  I thought that perhaps a rental company would let me stow the car there for Avis to fetch.  No way.  More time wasted.  I finally went into the daily parking garage, left the ticket and the keys in the car and ran to the check-in counter.  There was Matt, the porter and the agent waiting for me.  The luggage was way overweight, and we had to pay.  But whatever.  We had 45 minutes to get through security and to the gate.  

Matt was in a wheelchair and we needed an escort to get us through the security checkpoint quickly.  Of course, the escort had forgotten her badge and had to run back to the break room to get it.  More waiting.  Clock ticking.  We finally got through security and went as fast as we could to the gate.  They were holding the door for us.  We made it with 5 minutes to spare.  Whew!

On May 15, our house was the center of a packing frenzy.  A hoard of packers worked to put everything we owned into boxes as fast as they could.  We watched as our entire life was deconstructed and stuffed into boxes.  It was pretty upsetting.  I felt violated. But this was part of the process.  For two days, the packing and box stacking continued.  On day three,  the movers came to fit our stuff into three trucks.  They got it into 12 crates and we were elated.  This meant we would fit into a 40 foot container, a key factor in the cost of moving

While I watched them pack our life and throw the entire house into chaos or worse, Matt was sitting in the ER.  He had been having extreme pain in his lower back for days and he needed two see a doctor. But we had no time to make appointments. The plane was leaving tomorrow. He needed to get diagnosed ASAP. We were worried it might be related to his nerve problems.  He got checked in and they told us it would be hours before he saw a doctor, so I left him sitting in the ER while I dealt with the packers and the last errands.  I admit it was not a great thing to do but we both knew we had no choice.  We were leaving in less than 24 hours and he needed help.  I needed to be at the house to address the questions and stay on top of it.

I picked Matt up late in the afternoon. He had blown discs in his lower back but we had to keep going. But we had to deal with what was in front of us.  Luckily, he was comfortable sitting and we were going to be doing a lot of that in the next two days. Plus, he was loaded with pain meds and a prescription for steroids. The meds allowed him to move albeit, with impatience and anger that comes with steroids. 

We had a lot of clean-up to do after the movers left. We went back to the house to hand out the last of our food to the neighbors and to gather the last items that needed to be tossed.  This took some time and by the time we arrived at the hotel near the airport, it was a little before 10 p.m.  As we checked in, the receptionist let us know that if we wanted food we had to hurry because the restaurant closed at 10, even for room service.  

Seeing as we had to unload the car and make our way to the room, there was no way we were getting a food from the hotel.  By this time, I was so hungry I could have eaten my hand, but we figured we would just order take out.  What we did not anticipate was the fact if you are looking for take out after 10 p.m., the pickings are slim.  Matt searched and searched and finally found a diner that would do carry out.  Club sandwiches and pink lemonade seemed like the thing to eat at midnight. We finally passed out from exhaustion at about 1 a.m.