We went from summer to fall in the US and then to spring and summer in New Zealand. Now we are setting in for our first winter in more than 12 months.
A“weather bomb,” “slips,” COVID, starting school in a new country and different educational system, hospital staffing shortage, and more have meant our time in New Zealand hasn’t all been “sweet as…” at all times. But let’s begin with the “lovely long holiday” weekend of Waitangi Day. It’s like the US Independence Day, but with more acrimony. The holiday celebrates the February 6, 1840, signing of the Treaty of Waitangi between the British colonists and the native Māori peoples of the island. As a general means of colonists and native peoples learning to live together, this was a significant improvement over the traditional “we give you smallpox and you give us your land,” which prevailed in other parts of the world.
Where the treaty fell short was in the execution. The original document was written in English and then turned over to an influential man to translate into Māori. Unfortunately, this important man was too busy to bother properly learning the Māori language, but that didn’t stop him from going ahead and translating it anyway. Since that time, there have been some, to understate it as Kiwis sometimes do, “minor disagreements” between the two sides over what precisely the treaty means. . . An issue that has not been fully resolved to everyone’s satisfaction yet. So as a founding day and public holiday, it’s a bit of a mixed bag. But it is still a day off work, and that was good enough for us.
We planned to celebrate Waitangi Day as far from any contentious crowds as possible by visiting the lonely and frigid Fox Glacier. This slow-moving sea of ice starts high up in the Southern Alps and then falls 8,500 feet over its eight-mile journey to end in a temperate rain forest near the ocean. It is quite spectacular, but it has been in slow retreat for the last decade due to climate change. We wanted to see it before it retreated any further and before it disappeared. So we made plans to visit.
“Going to be a weather bomb, you know,” a Kiwi told me.
No, I did not know there would be a weather bomb; I didn’t even suspect a weather bomb was a thing. Turns out it is here in New Zealand where it can rain a lot. And by a lot, I mean more than a meter of rain (that’s over a yard for those of you in America) in just a couple of days. I thought people would be afraid of flooding when it started raining in what I can only describe as Biblical amounts, but for the most part, that wasn’t true. Big weather is a common occurrence here on the west coast, and they build the drainage with that in mind. I am amazed at the number of drainage pipes and concrete canals that rim our rental property, and now I know why.
For us, the problem wasn’t flooding but “slips.” In NZ they tend to use the British practice of understatement, so let me translate “slip” into a phrase my American friends will understand: “one big ass landslide!” The soil here is not the good, deep soil we think of in the American midwest. Instead, it is a thin layer of soil and organic matter on a bed of rock and clay. This being a rain forest, the vegetation is abundant but unable to put down deep roots. Plus, the coast rises steeply from the ocean to the mountains, which means most of that forest is rather precariously perched. So when a major weather front hits, some of those plants will lose their grip and create a slip like a rockslide, only with more trees and plants than rocks, although it does have those.
Our trip south to see the glacier was canceled by the weather bomb. The town of Fox Glacier has only one road that goes through it, and slips on both sides had isolated the community until the bomb passed and road crews could clear the way. So our attempt to celebrate Waitangi Day with a trip to the glacier was a bit of a disappointment, but maybe that’s appropriate for Waitangi Day.
The good news is that there are few tourists between COVID and New Zealand’s isolation policy to prevent COVID. Although bad for the tourism industry in general, it was good for this group of five tourists. We were able to reschedule a trip to Fox Glacier a few weeks later. But this time, we deliberately waited till the last minute to ensure the weather would not “bomb” us again.
So on a grey but rainless morning, we boarded a helicopter and took a flight up onto the ice. The flight was a lot of fun; the landing… well, when a helicopter lands on a glacier, it is landing on ice. That should have seemed evident before we got this far along in the trip, but it had somehow eluded me. As we got closer, I started looking for a landing pad. Instead, I spotted a few rocks arranged in a rough circle on the ice. If you have not been on a glacier before, you need to understand that it is not like the frozen surface of a pond, all smooth and flat. The glacier is a moving thing — albeit moving very slowly. So its surface is more akin to a frozen ocean on a stormy day than a hockey rink. The spot suggested by the rocks was like landing on the crest of a frozen wave. The only flat site was just big enough to accommodate the helicopter’s skids. Yet, the pilot settled gently onto that ice outcropping like he does it every day, which he does.
We disembarked from the running helicopter with blades whirling over our heads and slippery, uneven ice under our feet. The guide quickly ushered us a few feet away and had us crouch down while our delivery vehicle departed without a wasted moment. It was suddenly quieter and colder as we surveyed our position in the middle of a jagged, slippery ice field in the valley between two steep granite ridges. And we were alone.
The only living things on the glacier were the five of us and our two guides. Those guides didn’t give us but a moment to contemplate our situation before they began showing us how to strap crampons onto our boots so we could walk on the ice. Then we set off. Our guides, who went by the names Sky and Stretch (he is almost seven feet tall and may need to reconsider a career that has him climbing in and out of crowded helicopters), took us on a glacier tour. We saw walls of ice, rivers of meltwater running over the ice and disappearing into tunnels that disappeared deep under the ice. But the most amazing experience was climbing down into an ice cave. It was surreal being in a landscape composed only in shades of blue. It was also challenging for a fifty-year-old man to navigate some of the tight turns and frightening to realize that if the ice shifted at all… well, it was best not to think about that.
Our time was over too quickly, and we were back at the “landing pad.” Sky collected our crampons, and we were again slipping on the ice and at risk of falling. The helicopter roared in and set down virtually on top of us. With no preamble, the crew efficiently reloaded us into the noisy contraption, and we were back aloft. I got the strong impression the pilot did not like being on that spot any longer than absolutely necessary. I can’t say as I blame him. Maybe they need to invest in some crampons for the helicopter.
We warmed up back in our rental and then planned a nice dinner out. It is not as easy as it sounds because most local restaurants were closed due to COVID and the lack of foreign tourists supporting the economy. Fact is, the town of Fox Glacier has the feel of a ghost town. Yet, after a few false starts, we enjoyed a memorable dinner and then a well-earned good night’s rest.
Not all of our adventures have taken place in wilds like glaciers. Just being in New Zealand is an adventure in itself. One big part of that adventure has been our teens starting school in a new system. New friends, new teachers, and new classes are ok with them, but the school uniform is the bit they don’t like, and the bill for buying them wasn’t the best part of my day either. Delaney had a few hiccups at first finding the class that fit and challenged her. Once we got that “sorted,” “all was right.”
The school year runs from February to December, with summer break occurring in late December and January. Otherwise, school runs all year with two-week breaks at the end of each quarter. The kids have two different scheduled days and flop back and forth between them. At first, it was a bit tricky to get the hang of this, but now they have it down even if I can’t keep track.
Schoolwork is structured differently than in the US. They don’t have graded assignments or homework as we think of it. They have work to do that the teacher checks but does not record as part of their final grade. This allows them to try, make mistakes, and learn from their mistakes without being penalized for trying. They are then graded based on class projects and an internal and external exam which assesses them mid-term and end of term, respectively. As parents, we have noticed that not constantly being judged and graded has had a remarkable impact on our children’s engagement with school. They are much more enthusiastic about their classes, like their teachers, and seem to want to go to school each day — but, which does not translate into wanting to get out of bed early enough to make it to school on time.
Is the school curriculum as rigorous as it is in the US? We’re not sure it is, but we know that learning to succeed in a new culture and school system will teach our children lessons they could not have learned if we stayed in the states. We are hoping those life experiences will offset any academic differences. One significant departure in the school curriculum is that New Zealand schools have more of a focus on trades. In the US, the point of school seems to be to get into college or else you are a failure. In New Zealand, going into a trade is a respected path for young people, and that path starts in secondary school. Delaney has one day a week of trade in Environmental Conservation while William takes a class on tourism and the tourist industry. They are both enthusiastic about what they are doing, and we are happy to see that.
The bad news is that New Zealand schools are not immune to COVID. The island nation has had a pandemic strategy that isolated the island and kept the virus out. That worked well until the Omicron variant. Despite managed quarantine and isolation, Omicron managed to make its way onto the island, and once here, the virus could not be contained. That is the bad news. The good news is that the vaccination rate for those 12 years and older is 96%. So we haven’t seen the hospitals overwhelmed by severely ill patients. Our biggest problem in the medical system has been keeping them staffed as physicians, nurses, and allied health workers become exposed and infected, requiring them to isolate at home. Although this has been disruptive, it has not been the same level of backbreaking I saw back in the US.
The problem for me is that we don’t have a lot of surgeons on the West Coast. With my arrival, one of the local surgeons agreed to a temporary assignment on the North Island to help fill unmet needs. That seemed like a good idea six months ago when COVID was unknown on the island. But when the virus finally arrived, the other surgeon here, who is working into his retirement years, decided not to risk exposure to the virus and took a leave. That left me as the only full-time surgeon on the West Coast of New Zealand. I get help from surgeons who rotate in from other parts of the country, but there have been plenty of times I have been the only one working on the West Coast. That has also meant I have had to pick up the unmet call, make additional time for procedures, patient care and administrative task. Compared to my work back in the States, what looked like a pretty cushy job turned into, well, like working back in the states. Lack of managerial foresight is also at pandemic levels.
My own family isn’t immune to the virus. Will picked it up at school — we always knew that sending them to school was the most serious danger. Will developed typical upper respiratory symptoms, and a few days later, Heidi developed fever and muscle aches. Per New Zealand protocol, we isolated the whole family in the house and did at-home nasal tests. I learned that having that swab rammed into the back of your nose is no better when done by someone who supposedly loves you.
Allen tested positive but never developed any significant symptoms, and Delaney tested negative despite developing cold symptoms. Since I was the only full-time surgeon on the West Coast, isolating myself at home wasn’t an option. So I did a nasal test every morning for ten days — no it does not get better with daily practice. Then as long as the test was negative, I was “allowed” to work, but required to wear an N95 mask. I did not eat meals with other people at the hospital to avoid potentially exposing them. I did wear a mask at home and tried to distance myself from my family in my own home. It was a weird two weeks, but I did not test positive and did not miss a single day of work, which is essential because if I hadn’t been able to work, the hospital would have had no surgical coverage. I’m finding hospitals worldwide rely too much on the expectation that their medical staff is immune to all the things that affect other human beings and that the medical system makes no allowance for the possibility this might not be true.
The simple fact is that there are too few doctors in general and too few general surgeons in particular. The deficiency of providers puts undue strain on the ones we do have and discourages bright, young medical students from pursuing the careers where they are needed most. This needs to change, and it needs to change now as it will take a decade for new surgeons to be trained and begin to make a difference in the world. I’ve been in New Zealand for six months, and I still get near-daily emails from hospitals in the US to provide temporary surgical coverage — thank goodness I have a new phone number or my phone would be getting daily calls. Unfortunately, doctors have stepped up in the face of managerial failure repeatedly and kept this issue from reaching critical mass. Still, if nothing changes, it is only a matter of time before people go to hospitals to find no one there to care for them.
In the meantime, we are learning to navigate all the minor differences that come from living in a new country, like new names for old foods. For example, bell peppers are called capsicums in NZ. Why are they called that? I still don’t know, but as one Kiwi pointed out, “Why do you call it a pepper? It’s not where pepper comes from and it doesn’t even smell or taste like pepper.” So maybe they are right on that one.
We have also had to learn the local meaning of “gas.” In New Zealand, they don’t have natural gas piped to your house. Instead, it comes to you in big cylinders (think of the cylinder you use on a BBQ grill but five times taller) hooked up outside the house. We have two. The idea is that you use one until it runs out — a fact that becomes clear when someone, usually Allen, is in the shower. Then you switch over to the second cylinder and call the local gas company that brings a new one around in a day or so. In New Zealand, it is the liquid propane gas in these cylinders that they refer to when they say “gas.” If you ask about putting “gas” in your car, they look at you as if you are “daft.” Cars here run on “petrol,” which you get from a “petrol station.” Or, in our case, our car runs on diesel as it is more economical here than “petrol.”
No matter what you put in your vehicle, it is expensive in NZ. Diesel is currently $2.63 per Liter, not gallon. That works out to about $9.95 per gallon in New Zealand dollars or $6.27 in US dollars per US gallon. No matter what you buy, fuel is expensive here or cheap in the US, depending on how you look at it. This is why we only own one car, and I walk to work most days. It saves on the cost of a second vehicle, cuts down on fuel costs, and gets me a little exercise. This is why we deliberately looked for a home close to the hospital.
That home is also close to the ocean. We get to see the sunset over the Tasman Sea every evening, and I haven’t gotten tired of that yet. What I have been surprised by is how loud the ocean is. Those waves roll in all day and all night. The sound that seems so calm and soothing on a day at the beach or while played in the background during a massage can get monotonous when you have to listen to it all the time. But somehow, we are getting by, and I’ll just have to think about how that is as I enjoy a 12-year old Irish Whiskey while watching the sun disappear into the ocean again tonight.
The school term ends in the middle of peak COVID in New Zealand. We have a two-week break planned for the time the kids are out of school. We hope to travel to the north end of the South Island and visit the beloved Ablel Tasman National Park. Will the virus stop us? Will we be weather bombed again? And what new challenges does New Zealand have in store for us as we move into our first winter in this land down under? Only time will tell.
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